


Just Like Him

by Rabenschnabel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Asexuality, Barty Crouch Jr Appreciation 2k19, Dark Harry, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Impotence, In a way that is as healthy as possible, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, but like, mentions of child abuse, tw: anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2020-08-13 23:37:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 85,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20182612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabenschnabel/pseuds/Rabenschnabel
Summary: At the height of his power, Lord Voldemort employed another failsafe next to the horcruxes: his most loyal followers would be able to retrieve them and resurrect him with their help.As a result, Barty Crouch Jr. breaks his father's mind control early and goes off to seek his master.While he is unsuccessful in locating him, he manages to find surprising but welcome allies in the Boy-Who-Lived and his godfather.With the support of the Ancient and Noble House of Black on his side, Barty needs to use all his cunning and guile to navigate the world of politics and Dark Arts.And so, four years after their first meeting, a different Harry Potter will arrive at Hogwarts: one who wants nothing more than to bring Lord Voldemort back and who will stop at nothing to achieve his goal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is very dear to my heart and my own take on the "Someone takes Harry away from the Dursleys and makes everything better" trope.

What got him every time was the simple things like feeling the breeze on his face, watching the clouds fly by or, in this case, listening to children play. It had all been so far away all these years. 

It had been about seven months since Bartemius Crouch Sr. had tragically died of a particularly nasty case of wizard flu. At least that's what it said on the death certificate, not that anyone cared enough to look too deep into it. Few people had come to his small ministry-funded funeral– his vault having been locked up with no named heirs.

Nobody had noticed the broken young man under an invisibility cloak, his constant companion for the last 5 years, hidden in the last row. After the few people who had come had left, there had been no one to witness him spit on his father's grave and Apparate away on the spot. 

Half a year he had looked everywhere for his master, his _ true _ father; followed half-heard rumours, heeded ill-gotten advice and always, always came up blank. The fruitless search was maddening and worse still, none of his master's old followers who had walked free were still true, none of them. Traitors all. 

Thus disillusioned, Barty had made the only decision he thought adequate: he was going to find the thrice-blasted Boy-Who-Lived and he was going to finish what his master had started. Maybe that would lure him out of hiding. 

It had taken him two weeks to find out that the boy was not in wizarding society and another two to _ Imperio _ the right people in the muggle world to find out where the old man had placed the boy. 

Muggle relatives! Of all the idiotic ideas!

That bumbling old fool must have been very sure in the triumph of the Light, indeed, to have put the boy out of sight of all those who might protect him. 

He'd noticed the blood wards when he'd arrived outside the frightfully cookie cutter style house that night, of course, but little children didn't stay indoors all the time. 

Having watched the house until the door opened and spit out a fat, huge, mountain of a boy with blond hair and blue eyes, Barty had felt positively affronted that someone could make the attributes he shared look so, so… _ distorted._ For a moment, he wanted to kill the boy right there and then for being a blight on wizardkind but then, another boy stepped timidly out of the door, shielding his face from the bright summer sun with a bony hand. 

He was small, scruffy and the kind of painfully thin that even his washed-out baggy school uniform couldn't hide. While the fat boy had a shining new backpack, the small one had an old, dirty shopping bag from Tesco's for his school things and Barty snorted at the absurdity of it all. 

The saviour of the Light, reduced to a small huddled creature being shoved all the way to school by his fat whale of a cousin? And all that right under Dumbledore's long pointy nose? Talk about cosmic irony. 

He was watching the school during break now, enjoying being outside even after half a year on the run and listening to the delighted giggling of merry children. Choosing to be disillusioned now rather than under an invisibility cloak for maximum freedom, he wondered why he hadn't just killed the boy yet. Just a bit of pointing, a quick incantation, and poof, boy saviour no more. 

Then he looked at the small figure standing alone in a corner of the school yard, desperately trying not to stick out and damn it all, but Barty felt a pang of… something in his chest. Feelings had been hard after Azkaban, especially since he had spent the next years living under the Imperious curse so he wasn't _ entirely _ sure he even had any feelings anymore. 

Seemed he did though, because something tugged at his heart when four bigger boys, led by the great big whale, cornered the boy saviour and beat the stuffing out of him. Then, the boy started running, faster than Barty had anticipated given his sorry condition, but still, two of the bigger boys were catching up. 

Just when they were about to reach him, there was a resounding crack and the boy appeared on the school roof. 

"Interesting," Barty's voice, rough with disuse, commented detachedly. 

Apparition as a form of Accidental Magic was quite a feat. Not a one in a million thing, but definitely way up there. There might be another way to go about this yet.

The boy, in the meantime, looked scared out of his wits, perched atop the roof and shouting something panicked down to a hurriedly summoned teacher who looked absolutely livid. 

Yes, maybe… just maybe, he could make this work. 

-o-

He waited for the boy in the park the cousins had travelled through this morning. The great big lump of a kid had run straight home as fast as his little hooves would carry him– presumably to tattle and watch in glee as the boy saviour was punished. 

Soon enough, the little boy rounded a corner and walked with small but steady steps homewards. He was looking rather green in the face, clutching a suspiciously blue letter to his chest. A report, probably? 

Barty was sitting on a bench, still disillusioned, and thus made a double take when the boy stopped just as he reached him. He wasn't ready to be pierced by an intense stare from those haunted forest-green eyes. How could a child this young look so weary of the world? 

"Who are you hiding from?" The boy's voice was small but his curiosity evident. Anything to prolong the inevitable, he guessed. 

"You," Barty answered simply. 

"Me? But I'm just Harry." 

"Is that your name? Harry? Listening to that great tub of lard, one might have guessed you were called Freak." 

Giggling a little when Barty insulted the other boy the boy saviour's expression soured soon enough. 

"No, I'm Harry," he insisted. "And one day, I will make them call me that." 

"Why are they so awful to you?" 

"I'm not supposed to talk about it to the neighbours, but I guess you're from out of town?" Barty nodded. "I can… _ do _ things. Make things happen. Weird things. I ended up on the school roof today." 

"I saw that," Barty admitted. "I was very impressed. Not many young wizards or witches can Apparate at your age, accidental magic or not." 

The boy's forehead scrunched up. 

"Aunt Petunia says I'm not allowed to use the m-word, otherwise she'll wash my mouth with soap again." 

"What a horrid woman," Barty commented, affronted on his behalf. "Reminds me of my father. Dreadful man. Preferred the stick over the carrot." 

"I'd like to try a carrot," Harry said. "They make a nice cracking sound when people bite them. I just wonder whether my teeth would be strong enough. They keep breaking." 

He opened his mouth and Barty saw his little milk teeth all brittle and his gums all red and swollen. Could a young boy in this day and age actually have scurvy? Especially a wizard? 

"That looks terribly painful… how come no one noticed that?" 

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "I told Aunt Petunia that it hurts but I can get used to it. It's better than when Uncle Vernon uses the belt because I complain too much. I just let the bread get soggy in my mouth instead of chewing when I get some." 

"Huh," Barty merely answered. 

He liked children. Always had. It had been a terrible bummer to find out he didn't fancy girls at _ all _ at school because he had, rather desperately, wanted to be a father. Be better than his own sperm donor of a father, probably? Something like that. 

And now here this little lost boy was standing, desperately trying to delay his confrontation with his muggle tormentors. 

"Say… would you like me to take you away?" 

The boy's eyes immediately narrowed. 

"Are you one of them creeps Aunt Petunia keeps warning Dudley about? Those who fancy little boys and do unspeakable things to them?" 

Barty snorted. "I don't think anyone could take your cousin away if they tried." 

The boy giggled a little, then sobered again. "Where would you take me? And… why would you take me?" 

"As for the why– I'm a wizard, just like you." To demonstrate, Barty cast a _ Wingardium Leviosa _ on the boy and had him float up a couple feet. "You can learn this too once you're eleven. There's a school for people like us." 

"People like us," the boy repeated, still awed by his casual display of magic. "And would they like me there?" 

"Well, I suppose," Barty told him. "I suppose no one told you that you're their Saviour?" 

The boys eyes grew wide and he shook his head. "Does that mean I'm famous?" 

"Yep. Very. Most famous of them all, I suppose." 

That made the boy angry, surprisingly. "Well if I'm _ so _ famous then how come I live _ here _ with those _ people _? Even if my mother and father died in a car crash because they were good-for-nothing drunks, surely I have SOMEONE in that world?" 

"They… told you that your parents were drunks?" 

"They weren't?" 

"Of course not! They were formidable fighters and while they were on the other side of the war, one has to appreciate strength in one's enemies, as well. As for why no one took you in… there is one wizard who wanted you to grow up here and not in the magical world. Why? Maybe to keep you humble, maybe because he was afraid of you since you were so powerful as a toddler? I don't know. Lots of families would have loved to have taken you in, I reckon."

"What's that man's name?" 

"Albus Dumbledore, so-called Leader of the Light." 

"Not very Light of him to make me get starved and beaten and worked like a slave," the boy mumbled. "Does he know? Does anyone check on me?" 

"There's a Squib woman breeding kneazles, magical cats, across the road from you. Saw her this morning. Maybe she does the job for him." 

"Ms. Figg? But… she must know how they treat me…" 

The boy was silent, his eyes shining with as yet unshed tears. Probably had to learn the hard way that tears would hinder rather than help with those relatives of his. 

"I have lots and lots and lots to teach you before you start at Hogwarts, Harry. Will you come with me?" 

"My aunt tells Dudley not to go with strangers all the time, but she never said it to me. I guess they'd be happy to be rid of me." 

"We'd live in the muggle world, the mundane world, though and only occasionally stray into the wizarding world because it's safer that way," Barty explained. "I'd never beat you, cross my withered old heart, and you'll have proper clothes and meals and we'll get your teeth checked out and your eyes, too. You squint a lot. Do you get headaches often?" 

The boy nodded slowly. "It's hard to read the blackboard. I sit in the last row. I think I might need glasses but Aunt Petunia, well… I guess you know by now." 

"Is there anything you need from your room before we leave?" 

"I don't have a room, I live in the cupboard under the stairs." 

"You know, Harry… I think one day I'm going to kill Albus Dumbledore for all he's taken from us." 

"Just one more thing: you said you and my parents were on different sides in the war, so why would you help me?" 

"The war's long over," Barty explained. "You ended it, but I'll tell you about the details later. It took something from both of us, so I guess we're on the same side now? Kind of? Look, I don't exactly know yet. All I know is that we're the only one each of us has at the moment." 

The boy didn't seem to want to argue with that logic. 

"I suppose it would be wicked to have someone who actually cares about me," he said. "To be honest, I'd always dreamed of having someone on my side." 

The boy, no, _ Harry _, smiled now for the first time and it looked strange on his face. Barty supposed he hadn't had much use of those muscles in the last years of his life. Just like him. 

"What do you think about some fish'n'chips?" 

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "Never had it before." 

"Oh we'll rectify that this instant! The fish gets very soggy, so you'll have no problem eating it. Afterwards… we'll take care of your teeth." 

"I really can't believe this," Harry said. "You'll _ really _ take me away from this place? And I won't wake up in the cupboard ever again?" 

"Never again," Barty promised. 

Throwing the letter and the ruddy plastic bag aside, Harry waited for his next move. Barty got up from the bench and held out his hand for the boy. 

"This will feel just like what you felt when you found yourself on the school roof," Barty explained. "Afterwards, we'll be somewhere else and get that food I promised you." 

"One more thing before we go…" 

"Oh, is there something you want to take with you after all?" 

"Uh, no, I just– what shall I call you?" 

Huh, how about that. He hadn't even introduced himself and the boy had agreed to go with him. Dumbledore had really brought that one on himself. 

"There are many things I need to tell you before I can tell you my real name lest you slip up and call me by it when we're in the wrong company. Is that alright with you?" Harry thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Right. So how about, until such time, you call me… Alfy. Alfred. Always fancied that name." 

"Uncle Alfy… no, no, I don't like uncles. Cousin Alfy? Not too big on cousins either, but the adults were worse. Can I call you Cousin Alfy?" 

"That'll be fine." 

With that, they Apparated to a cozy little seaside town Barty knew to get some chow. After that, they'd get money and then hit up one of the healers who were primarily in the business of healing and not in the business of asking questions. 

And afterwards, he'd start teaching the Boy-Who-Lived the Who is Who and What is What of wizarding society. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The boy was fretting.

Understandable, of course. On the best days, goblins were still intimidating for adult wizards who were used to them. The boy, on the other hand, was merely six years old, had only just learned about his heritage and here they were, sitting in one of the ridiculously formal offices of Gringotts.

It had to be done.

What money Barty had managed to gather at his parents' home before rushing away was quickly running out and they needed lots of things. The boy needed a safe place to stay and Barty himself wouldn't say no to sleeping in a bed again. The chase for his master had been as tiring as it had been disappointing.

Also, the boy needed clothes. Just looking at the filthy over-sized rags he was wearing was enough to drag up memories of Azkaban. Being forced to wear what he had had on him at the time for a year straight had been a humbling experience.

"Here, Harry, get up for us, will you? Might as well transfigure those tents you're wearing."

The boy mumbled a "Sorry." and got up obediently.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Barty reassured him. "Damn muggles. We'll get you a whole new wardrobe, just you see. Your old man was _loaded_, you could probably live a _hundred_ lives on Potter money."

He transfigured the uniform into a smart-looking dark grey robe and the ugly, worn trainers into a simple pair of boots. It wasn't going to hold forever but with a bit of luck, if this went right, it wouldn't have to.

Finally, a goblin arrived and sat behind his desk. He didn't even look up at them when he addressed them while sorting through his papers.

"You have asked for a private meeting, unscheduled. State your business."

"Uhm. My name is Harry Potter and… I guess my parents might have left something for me?"

The goblin raised an eyebrow at that– a shockingly obvious sign of emotion from one of their race.

"And you have your key?"

"Cousin Alfy says a man named Albus Dumbledore has it but I don't want him to have it because he put me with the _Dursleys_ and I'm supposed to give you blood and then I get my money."

The words all rushed out of the boy and Barty stiffened slightly when the goblin stared at him.

"You are not an… Alfy," the goblin said. "We know who you are behind your _glamours_ but rest assured we goblins do not meddle in the politics of wizards. We only care for blood and gold, and today, we shall have blood."

He pushed a blank piece of parchment towards the boy.

"One drop."

Harry looked back at him, silently asking for help. Barty had him hold out his finger, nicked it with the weakest cutting spell he knew and immediately closed the wound again. One lone drop of blood fell on the parchment and from it, red words blossomed out across the page.

The goblin snatched it away.

"You are who you say you are, yet your given name is Hadrian Iacobus Potter, if you'd care to know."

"I do! Thank you ever so much! If it's not too much trouble, sir, does your magic paper also tell you my parents' names?"

Barty's chest gave another tug. He hadn't even considered that they wouldn't have told him his parents' _names_.

"James Charlus Potter and Lily Potter, née Evans."

"James and Lily," the boy repeated. "And they were good people and did not die because they drove drunk."

He looked at the goblin, then at Barty. "Thank you both, this is the best day of my life!"

The goblin raised an eyebrow again and Barty forced himself to flash the boy a smile despite the stone in his stomach. Poor thing! He'd be well taken care of from now on, and once the boy was a formidable wizard, they'd find his Lord together.

"Since you don't want the old wizard Albus Dumbledore to have access to what is yours, do you want to destroy all keys and all paperwork associated with his magical guardianship of you? As the heir and only living member of an Ancient and Noble House, you may do so."

"I… guess?"

The goblin snapped his thick fingers.

"It is done. From now on, account statements will be here for collection until such time as you move to a fixed location. Is there anything else you require?"

"Cousin Alfy says there is a type of money pouch that is connected to my fault?"

"Your vault," the goblin corrected, not unfriendly. "I suppose you want access to both wizarding and muggle currency?"

Here, he looked at Barty who nodded.

"Very well. The usual fees will apply and you will have access to the Hadrian Potter Scholarship Vault. The main Potter Vault will be open to you on your seventeenth birthday, upon your emancipation."

"Thank you," the boy said before remembering what Barty had taught him. "May your enemies… treble before your axe and gold flow into your faults like a river."

"Likewise– your foes shall fall before your sword and a rain of gold shall fill your pockets. We shall contact you once you are eleven years of age; until such time, your accounts shall remain in stasis– however much this pains us."

-o-

When they were back in Diagon Alley, Harry's glamours back in place to make him look blond and brown-eyed with no scar, Barty let out a deep, deep breath.

"You did it, kiddo, you can't believe how relieved I am! That goblin has probably never dealt with someone so young and yet so dignified."

"Dignified? I was terrified!"

"Doesn't matter," Barty waved him off. "We have money, Jacob! We can get a flat somewhere and I'll teach you all you need to know. Oh, it'll be brilliant, just you wait."

"Jacob?"

"A more modern version of Iacobus, thought you might appreciate it."

"Oh, I do!"

-o-

The next morning, they left their room in the Leaky Cauldron together. It had been the first time Harry had slept in a bed since he could remember and that was after they'd gotten his teeth and eyes fixed for a steep price in Knockturn Alley.

To say the boy had been a wreck was putting it lightly. There had been lots of reassurances that yes, Alfy was here to stay and, no, no one would take him away and yes, he did, indeed, deserve everything that had happened that day and so much more.

Barty felt strangely calm and collected in his new role. If he couldn't have a proper father for himself, than he sure as hell could _be_ one. Just as his lord had been for him. And together, they would find him, put him back together and rule wizarding society as his left and right hand!

Just a little more time. What were four years compared to an eternity?

-o-

A little while later, the two were the proud tenants of a small two bedroom flat with a spacious kitchen and a small but clean bathroom on the outskirts of London that cost them a hundred quid a week. Not what Barty had and Harry should have grown up with but _loads_ better than what they were both used to.

Officially, or rather, unofficially, they were now Alfred and Jacob Miller, a young father and his son who'd recently lost their wife and mother, respectively, when she died after being hit by a drunk driver. Barty had told Harry that the more truth in a lie, the easier it was to keep it straight and make it believable.

The boy had nodded sagely and vowed to remember that.

They went and got groceries and clothes for the both of them next. Harry couldn't believe his eyes when he saw himself in the department store mirror.

"I look like a_ real boy_," he whispered in awe at his reflection. "I doubt even Mrs. Morgan from Nr. 8 would call me a deckle lint now."

"I suppose you mean delinquent," Barty corrected him and loaded up about a dozen shirts of the size that fit the boy in their cart.

The boy was only wearing simple jeans and a graphic T-shirt that proclaimed his love of pineapples to the world, rounded up with shoes that actually fit his feet, yet he strutted around like a king. Wizards were resilient. They would have him catch up in no time.

After that, back at their new flat, Barty excused himself and sat the boy in front of the tee-vee which he seemed to appreciate tremendously.

Armed with the coin pouch, he went into Knockturn Alley again and procured a protective talisman inscribed with powerful runes that, to be honest, was so expensive compared to Barty's sensibilities that it wasn't even funny anymore.

He told Harry to wear it always when he got back.

"And it really makes the bad wizard unable to find me? Neither by owl nor by tracing nor by screaming or anything else?"

"Scrying, and the Trace but you got the jist of it alright," Barty commented, not without amusement. "I do have to warn you, though– I've been a prisoner in more ways than one for so long that what meager cooking skills I had, be they magical or muggle, have rusted something fierce."

The boy jumped up from the couch, colourful moving pictures of the tee-vee forgotten.

"I can cook! I've been doing it for years! That way, I can pay you back for helping me out."

"While, on principle, I find it horrible that a six-year-old child had to learn how to properly cook years ago… in this case I am actually rather thankful for it."

Watching the boy bustle off into the kitchen and arm himself with an apron he had insisted on buying, Barty allowed himself to relax for the first time since he'd been on the run. Maybe for the first time since he'd left school, actually.

They might actually be able to make this work.

That evening, they had spaghetti bolognese which really looked a lot more professional than anything cooked by a six-year-old had any right to be.

"Do we… say Grace?" The boy looked worried. "The Lord was never really there for me when I needed him, so I'd rather not if it's alright."

"I only have one Lord, anyway," Barty shrugged. "And I want him back."

"I could help you," Harry offered, fighting the long strands of pasta.

Sighing, Barty cut them for him.

"We'll see about that. First, you need to learn a lot of things and we'll start tomorrow. You'll turn seven years old in a couple months, so we really only have a little more than four years and like I said, I have _lots_ to teach you."

The boy smiled wistfully.

"Will we be like a proper family?"

"I've always wanted one, to be honest," Barty admitted. "Never thought I might get the opportunity after, well, everything that's happened. So yeah, sure. Why not. We'll be a family alright."

"And this will be our home!" The boy held his hands out to indicate their small flat and he'd be damned if there wasn't some spark returning into those big eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed, "home."

-o-

Hundreds of miles north of them, roughly half a dozen whizzing and whirring apparatuses spontaneously combusted into plumes of smoke.

When the old man who lived there would return from dinner, he would first pale frighteningly fast and then redden in anger so crimson, it would be a travesty of the house he'd once been Sorted into.

Alas, whomever he would ask– be it the boy's relatives, Mrs. Figg, the teachers at the boy's school and even the goblins or ministry officials, no one at all would be able to tell him where the boy had gone.

All he would find out was that his magical guardianship had been revoked and that his key to the boy's vault had been destroyed.

_Someone_ had taken him.

But no matter how much he scried and blackmailed, bribed and threatened, bartered and begged, the boy would remain hidden from him. And many other things he had wanted to take care of fell by the wayside during his search for the Child of Prophecy.

-o-

Barty and his protégé didn't know about any of that, even though he suspected that the old man wouldn't give up so easily. Still, the talisman proved to be worth every galleon he'd spent on it.

"Will you maybe tuck me in? I've never been tucked in before. And you have a nice voice so maybe you can tell me a story?"

He looked up at the boy in surprise.

"Oh, no, sorry. You don't have to, of course, I'll see you in the morning!"

Barty snickered quietly to himself. Good to know from the tug he felt every time the boy did something _particularly_ heart-breaking that he did indeed still have feelings.

He went after him, of course, and tucked him into bed. Pulling a stuffed snake plushie he'd gotten in the department store on a whim from behind his back, Barty was delighted to see the boy's eyes light up. Never too early to start a little snake propaganda for his master's sake.

Probably never even had a toy before, the poor thing. The boy was stroking the snake plush and hissing comforting little phrases into its stylised ear holes and _HOLD THE __**FUCK**__ UP_.

"Jacob?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell the snake?"

"I told her she'll be my best friend in the whole world after you. Was I mumbling too much? Aunt Petunia always said I mumbled too much."

Shaking his head, Barty looked out the window and had to try with all his might to keep it together. Finally, after all these years, he had at least a small part of his master back. He _knew_ his instinct of taking the boy instead of killing him was the right choice.

"You wanted me to tell you a story, right? I'll tell you a story about a boy who was just like you. He didn't have parents and grew up with horrid people until one day, he found out he was a wizard."

"What was his _name?"_

"His name was… Tom and he was a very special little boy. He could talk to snakes, for one…"

-o-

It hadn't taken long for Harry to fall asleep, listening to the tales Barty spun of his master's youthful exploits the man himself had shared with him.

The boy was a parselmouth, of all things. How did it work? Was he descended from Slytherin as well? Or had his master somehow transferred the ability over to-

Barty's thoughts broke off in horrified silence and for about ten seconds his mind was blissfully blank. Then, all his theories returned in a great flash of internal light and one stood out amongst the rest.

No. It couldn't be. So few knew about this, so few were trusted. To have just stumbled upon this– Dumbledore _must_ have noticed it. They would have had to do scans on a boy presumably hit with a killing curse, wouldn't they?

_Something _must have come up!

The boy. A horcrux.

He was sure of it!

His little charge was a horcrux. His master had done all the preparations that fateful Samhain and when the ritual succeeded even though it had failed, the soul shard must have gotten stuck in the boy, somehow.

Dumbledore knew, and that was why the boy was in the muggle world– any Dark Wizard worth his salt would have sussed out the truth if in close enough proximity to the boy for long enough. The old man was playing a dangerous game since every magical child went to Hogwarts, so maybe he had contingency plans in place.

Oh, they would have to prepare the boy even better than he'd imagined. A piece of his master, here with him, right this moment.

Aaand there the feelings were, washing over him like waves breaking on a rough shore. They crested high and ebbed away, only to return with renewed power and consume him again. He didn't know how long he was sitting on their thrift store couch but sometime close to dawn, his tears finally ebbed away and he was left a cleansed man.

He knew now what he had to do. As soon as the boy was off to Hogwarts, he was going to start looking for the rest of the horcruxes. Some locations he knew, his lord having placed them in his mind for safekeeping behind defenses Azkaban had long since melted away. Others, he would have to find by himself.

At least he knew how many there were, so Harry had to be the sixth. Unless, of course, his lord had made one more in secret but to be perfectly honest– the man was too much of a gloat for that. He liked having someone know. Barty would have to properly build up his mind's defences again if he didn't want to disappoint him upon his return.

Yes. He would teach the boy, the first piece of his master he'd been able to reclaim, everything he needed to become a formidable right hand upon his master's return. Then, he would locate all the horcruxes and he would reunite them into his master so that this time, he would heed caution over… showmanship.

When the sun broke the horizon apart and emerged from beyond, a man who had finally risen from the ruins of his former life drifted off into a restful sleep for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this story, I'm going with the "Barty has been a close confidant of Voldemort from the moment he took the Mark" approach because his abilities were unreal. If you look at everything he knows and can do in canon after being a hollow prisoner for 13 years with no access to a wand, a friend or anything, you have to wonder what he might have become with a little more time– time he has, in this story. Once he comes back, dear Tom won't know what hit him with these two powerhouses.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barty and Harry decide to adopt a dog but the application process at the shelter is a lot more complicated than it has any right to be.

**Chapter 3**

For the most part, Barty and his charge fell into an easy enough rhythm in their first year together. Until lunch, they would practice reading, penmanship and rudimentary Latin. Afterwards, Etiquette and History.

Once they'd gotten over the whole 'But I'm not allowed to do better than Dudley!' thing, the boy proved to be a quick study. Starved for affection as he was, he didn't dream of antagonising Barty and aimed to please as well as he could.

They lived a rather solitary life since neither of them was very fond of other people. Barty held no love for muggles on the best of days and Harry had had too many bad encounters in his short life to want to play with other children. And on the odd occasion that they went out into the wizarding world, they were always only one clasped shoulder away from Apparating to safety.

In the meantime, Barty had done tests on the boy's scar to confirm his suspicions and was proven correct. Harry had been happy to learn that a part of Barty's master lived on in him and started being proud of his scar instead of trying to hide it.

Thus, the boy _finally_ allowed him to give him a haircut. With his now shorter hair neatly slicked back he looked less like the scruffy boy Barty had rescued from abuse and more like a young pureblood heir. Barty was satisfied right until Harry demanded tit for tat and had _him_ get a new haircut as well. Well, it wouldn't do to let himself go, he supposed. Imagine his Lord somehow managing to come back on his own with Barty looking like a scarecrow! Unacceptable.

-o-

When Harry was nearly nine years old, there was a bit of a hiccup in their relationship. Their lessons now consisted of Wizarding Customs and House Politics before lunch and more recent History after.

The day in question had started with Harry asking about how his parents died and how he became the Saviour of this world he found himself entangled in. Barty sighed. He'd expected the question a lot sooner and yet he'd hoped it would never come.

This was it. This conversation would decide whether the boy would _ever _be able to see Lord Voldemort as anything other than an enemy.

So they got comfortable on the old couch they'd both gotten fond of with Harry clutching the worn snake plush to his chest and Barty began with his tale. He'd never _really_ treated the boy like 'just a child' if he was being honest with himself, so the thought of censoring the story in a more child-friendly way never crossed his mind.

He started with a foolish young man trying to belong who overheard part of a prophecy and relayed it to his master in a bid to gain his favour. How his master had scoffed at the idea of a prophecy, especially one proclaiming a mere child might be the one to 'vanquish' him at first and for almost a year after.

Here, even Barty wasn't sure why his master had eventually changed his mind. Whether it had been because the betrayal of the Pettigrew boy granted him easy access to the young family or because of something completely unrelated– in the end, the why mattered little, because attack them he did.

In a flash of green, two young lives were lost that day because they wanted to protect their child and because one of their dearest friends had betrayed them.

He briefly touched on Sirius Black being imprisoned in Azkaban for the betrayal and on unrelated murder charges, how his master's victory that had seemed so near had been thwarted by a mere toddler and how the wizarding world had lauded him as their hero.

When he was done, the boy was very quiet. Then, he asked questions.

"Why were my parents hiding? Did they know about the prophecy, too?"

"I'm not sure about the prophecy, but they _did_ know that my master was after them. They and another couple with a young son who also matched the description went into hiding at the same time. Oh, right. I forgot to mention– guess who the person the prophecy was spoken to was."

"How should I know? Wait. No… Not _him_, surely?"

Barty nodded sadly. "The one and only: Albus Dumbledore."

"So even before I was born he was meddling in my life? How do we know there even _was _a prophecy? You said that Snape guy works for Dumbledore now, so maybe it was all a trap and there was no prophecy?"

"My master was sure that Snape's loyalties lay with him but the man was a skilled Occlumens even back then so who knows, really. I _do_ know that he had the hots for your mum, so maybe once he found out who the prophecy referred to he freaked out? In any case, I think he _did _hear a prophecy, be it a fake one or a real one."

The boy pondered over that for a moment or two. "That seems as likely as any other explanation we might come up with. Maybe we'll never know. All I know is that this Snape character sold out my parents and then sold out your master so we know he can never be trusted. He goes wherever the wind blows."

Barty wondered, not for the first time, how much of an impact a couple years of care had had on the boy's speech pattern. He suspected that it was due, in part, to the Horcrux residing behind his forehead but he wasn't about to complain. If anything, it made his job of preparing the boy even easier.

"I agree," Barty responded, finally. "You'll have to be wary of him, too, in Hogwarts."

"I will. Now, about that godfather of mine…"

-o-

In the end, they agreed that the probability of Sirius Black joining them, even for Harry's sake, was a slight chance at best. Still, the boy demanded, _demanded_, that they set things in motion to free him.

Apparently, his godfather being denied a trial was the one thing in all this mess that Harry couldn't stand for. Barty rather thought the boy was compartmentalising his parents' deaths just a tad but he was too glad that this particular line of conversation had ended for the time being.

After a good long think about his new task, Barty went to Knockturn Alley to acquire a basic scrying set. He showed the boy how to set up the ritual bowl, how to fill it with purified water, the runes, the incantation– all there was to know about it. Pettigrew must have been sure of his getting away with everything because the location they got for him was in Ottery St. Catchpole, a little village that housed the odd magical family or two. Probably posing as a smart common rat somewhere.

With that info providing all the proof he felt he needed, Barty dictated a letter to a self-writing quill, addressed it to one of the most prestigious law-wizards in the country, tied a shrunken bag of no less than 1000 galleons to it and had it anonymously sent off from Gringotts. There was a Gringotts-based return address under a fake name relayed in the letter on the off chance that their chosen solicitor should need further information or funding.

They didn't hear anything more about it for two whole months. But when the story broke, it broke hard.

**SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT #**

**PETER PETTIGREW UNREGISTERED ANIMAGUS — FOUND HIDING AS A PET**

Basically the whole edition of the Daily Prophet talked about little else. Harry was delighted, as was Barty, in a way. Black had been one of the only ones still sane - and caring! - enough to give him some comfort back in that dark and dreary place. The man hadn't deserved staying there.

There was even a little interview with Black. Apparently, the long-overdue trial had already taken place a couple days ago and this press release must have been carefully constructed. Barty had Harry analyse it as practice.

"It throws the old administration under the bus," Harry concluded after a while. "Ex-minister Bagnold and some bloke called Bartemius Crouch Snr who are both dead and can't defend themselves. It says here that Crouch used to be the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time but that he lost all standing because his son was outed as a death eater and died in Azkaban. Apparently, in a bid to keep his position, he prosecuted his son himself and his wife died of grief a year later. What a bastard."

"Ha," Barty replied, voice thick, "sure sounds like it yeah?"

"You're doing that tongue thing again," Harry told him, expression guarded. "Where you flick it out and lick your lips all the time like you're a snake. I noticed you only do that when you're nervous."

"You did, didn't you?," Barty sighed, not meeting the boy's gaze. "Should have known I was going to raise a bloody nuisance the minute you spotted me despite the disillusionment charm, yeah?"

He was off the couch in a flurry of motion, pacing in their small sitting room, up and down, up and down and wringing his hands while he was at it.

"So what if they slander that guy's name? You said it yourself– he's a bastard, a good for nothing _prick_ of a lousy excuse for a man and nothing more!" His voice was growing louder now and he suddenly found himself gripping the edge of a window sill to steady his shaking legs. "He only got what he deserved is what I'm saying. Finally shown the world his true face'n all, he did!"

Harry was up and by his side in no time, leading his shaking form back to the couch. Then, he found his head tilted upward to stare into those green eyes that had become so achingly familiar over the last couple years.

"His son didn't die in Azkaban, did he?"

Bugger all this for a lark but the only answer Barty could give was a mute shaking of his head.

"I see. What about his mother?"

"The son's mother loved him very much and switched places with him because she was a frail woman and was close to dying anyway. His father used the Imperious curse on him to keep him away from everyone for _years_ until the son could break free from it to look for his master."

"But he didn't find him?"

"No… Instead, he sought out his master's greatest enemy and even then, he only managed to find his own best friend."

He didn't know how exactly it happened, but it was the first time they hugged. The boy was finally growing and had filled out a lot, but he was still a child and so _warm_ and _small_ in his arms. This must have been the most physical contact either of them had had in years and _years_ and that thought had Barty cling to his little charge ever so much tighter.

They stayed like that for a while, drinking in the comfort only a loved one could provide– be they blood or not.

When they parted, Harry sniffed and made them tea and Barty got their tin of biscuits because they were both English and that's how the English dealt with feelings. Then, they focused on the Prophet again.

"Right. So. The Fudge administration is using this to their advantage by spinning this as them caring about rectifying past mistakes," Barty continued where Harry had left off what felt like a lifetime ago. "And they're taking down Dumbledore, too. He was the one to cast the Fidelius, for heaven's sake so he should have made sure that Black at _least_ got a trial. That's not how you treat your friends."

"Were they ever friends, though?" Harry's voice had an off quality to it. "Maybe Dumbledore set this all up. Maybe he _wanted_ your master to kill my parents. Maybe they were starting to see through him? We don't know these things yet, but once I'm at Hogwarts, I will try to find out as much as I can."

The boy was almost glowing with a desire for righteous vengeance and Barty felt pride swell up in him.

"You should read this part of Black's interview," he told the boy, indicating a paragraph. "It's about us."

-o-

'**Interviewer**: Mr. Black, we at the Prophet have heard that your getting a trial was thanks to an anonymous benefactor who wanted to see justice done. Have you been able to find out who's behind your fortuitous change of fate?

**Mr. Black**: No, even the solicitor who was contracted by him, or well, maybe _her_, has no idea who's behind it. One day, an owl with all the info needed to clear my name together with a hefty payment just came out of nowhere. I… still can't really believe it, it's all a bit like a dream.

**Interviewer**: One you're not soon to wake from, Mr. Black, rest assured. Now, there's a good chance your mysterious helper will read this interview– is there anything you'd like to tell them?

**Mr. Black**: Of course! Look, I don't know who you are, but… you have saved my life when no one else would and I will forever be grateful to you. I understand if you'd like to stay anonymous for political reasons but I swear, if there's ever anything I, Sirius Orion Black or the House of Black, can do for you, just say the word and I will make it happen. So have I sworn, so mote it be.

_Here, Mr. Black glows golden with the unmistakable sheen of an Unbreakable Vow._

**Interviewer:** Well, that was unexpected. Uhm. Where were we. Is there anything in particular you're looking forward to doing, now that you're your own master again?

**Mr. Black**: Since it's come out during the trial that my godson has apparently gone _missing_, I will go and look for him. Do _not_ ask me my opinion of Albus Dumbledore next, I warn you.

**Interviewer**: Erm, yes. No. Of course. Let's talk about your rehabilitation! Where will you…'

-o-

"He seems nice," Harry said. "Do you think we should meet him?"

Barty thought about it. "He has very publicly turned against the Dark in the last war despite his family being Dark for generations… but that was more because of his direct family, I suppose. You see, I was… friendly with his younger brother who vanished towards the end of the war so I know some of what happened in their childhood. Let's just say that you and he have some things in common."

"So we can meet him?" The boy's gaze was pleading. "My parents wanted him to be my godfather, so he's basically family, isn't he? You taught me that magically sworn godparents can never hurt their godchildren, and he even swore an Unbreakable Vow to do whatever his saviour needs."

"Let me think about this," Barty requested. "I may have an idea how to go about this."

He didn't, but he hoped that he would have once he had kicked the old brain matter into gear. There was no way any request his young Lord had was going to remain unfulfilled and _where_ by Merlin's wrinkly old balls had that phrasing come from?

Seems there were _lots_ of things to think about. While Harry went into his room with the Daily Prophet to let him think, Barty looked after him as he left. There were still traces of the haunted child he'd picked up a couple years ago, of course, but he was holding himself differently now.

The scrawny frame had given way to broader shoulders and he was growing like a weed. The Potters had always been tall and Lily hadn't been small, either. Once grown, the boy was going to make a magnificent wizard, the potential was all there, Barty just had to unleash it piece by piece.

What was Black going to do to his plans? Should have probably thought of this before, he did. But when the boy had demanded that something had to be done Barty did the only thing he knew how to: obey.

He didn't know if the boy noticed it, but there was a shift happening between them. Young as he was, his young Lord was starting to call the shots and Barty was ever so glad to be able to _follow_ again. He was no leader, never had been, but following a _boy_?

No. Not just a boy. _The _boy. The Chosen One. The Saviour. The Boy-Who-Lived.

The Boy-Who-Was-A-Horcrux.

With Harry's magic slowly maturing and coming into its own, Barty was starting to be able to sense the boy's magical signature. It was agony because under the top layer that was unmistakably Hadrian Iacobus Potter, there was a pulsating undercurrent of Thomas Marvolo Riddle and he felt compelled to listen to its every whim and fancy just as he had done with his master all those years ago.

There was no use whining about it. If the young Lord wanted to hold an audience with Sirius Black, an audience with Sirius Black was what he was going to get. Black had sworn an Unbreakable Vow, after all, and the influence of what remained of the Black family potentially on their side was no small boon.

Sighing, he pulled some parchment over to him and started writing a letter to set up a clandestine meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adopt, don't shop ;)
> 
> Btw, I'll try to update about two times a week. Wednesday and either Saturday or Sunday. If there's no update on Wednesday, there will definitely be one on the weekend :>


	4. Chapter 4

Barty was currently waiting in a hotel room, wearing a different face like he so often did nowadays. Just a different kind of cage, he supposed but what's an ought-to-be-dead man to do?

The boy was downstairs in the lobby under polyjuice, disillusioned and glamoured and with lots of spare doses of polyjuice potion in his pockets, just in case.

The face Barty was wearing was young and pretty and very, very female. At 7pm sharp, there was a knock on the door. Barty took a deep breath, readjusted his wand holster for the umpteenth time and opened the door.

It was Black alright and, at least on first glance, he was alone. He looked terrible, though, all hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. Well, he'd only been out a week, maybe two, right? A wonder he'd managed to survive so many years in the first place.

"Missed my meticulous ministrations?," Barty winked with a coquettish grin.

"Madam, my mind might melt meeting my… modest maiden." Black looked physically pained saying this, but the secret phrases had been Harry's idea and he'd been ever so proud of them.

"Alright, in with you," Barty replied, shooing Black into the room. "_Homenum Revelio_."

The charm came up clear, so Barty closed the door behind him. Turning back to Black, he saw that the man was eyeing him warily.

"I wasn't… actually expecting a maiden," the man admitted, his eyes furtively glancing towards the bed. "I mean, if… that's what you want for freeing me, I-"

"Oh please," Barty scoffed. "This isn't my real face but I can't risk you knowing who I am, even if you are on our side. There are too many people who'd do terribly stupid things. No. You may address me as… Alfy, while we talk."

"Alright, _Alfy_," Black agreed, cautious. "Are you the one who freed me or are you just a middle man– well, woman?"

"I'm both, in a way," Barty explained. "I was the one who did the actual freeing but it was on, well, orders, I suppose? Demands? The claiming of friendly favours?"

Black was looking more and more agitated, now. "Can I meet whoever gave the orders? Or at least know their name?"

"If you agree to hand over your wand, I will summon your saviour here," Barty offered, holding his hand out.

Black looked close to arguing and by Merlin, Barty knew why. He himself had been _fiercely_ protective of his new wand, stolen as it might be, ever since Azkaban and being held prisoner by his own father.

"Look, I know it sounds bad, but– you'd have died in Azkaban sooner or later. Why go through all the trouble to free you only to kill you now when we could have let the dementors do our job for us?"

Black seemed to agree with that logic after a quick think and he handed his wand to Barty. Shoving it in his purse, Barty went to the door of the hotel room, conjured a little bird and sent it on its way to the lobby.

Not long after, he could hear small steps nearing their door and knew that next time, he'd remember to silence the boy's movements when he wanted to hide him.

"Get in, he's alone and unarmed," Barty invited him in, looked down both sides of the hallway and closed the door after another human-revealing spell for good measure. "Has the polyjuice worn off?"

There was no response.

"Look, Jacob, I can't see if you're nodding your head or shaking it. You're invisible."

"Oh right, sorry! I had this tingling feeling like when I took it on the way here, so I think it's worn off."

"Right-o. Look Black, please don't freak out."

Barty cancelled the disillusionment charm and Harry appeared with his glamoured blonde hair and blue eyes. Black's eyes narrowed in confusion but then, when Barty cancelled that spell as well, the man staggered backwards as if struck by lightning and sunk down against the wall, his eyes wide.

"Oh Merlin, it's you, isn't it…? Harry, it's you, oh what have I _done_."

With that, he buried his gaunt face in his hands and let out huge, heaving sobs. He looked terribly small like this, skin and bone as he was and with the darkness and despair of Azkaban still clinging to his every fibre.

The boy, still standing by Barty's side, didn't really know what to do and looked to him for guidance. Barty gave him an uneasy shrug. Comforting grown men that had escaped from hell's little sister was not one of the many skills listed on his resumé.

Well, he himself had escaped that place but he hadn't been himself long enough straight after to find out what he might have wanted after the ordeal. Maybe a hug?

Black fortunately got a grip on himself before they had to resort to pulling lots and shuffled up to them only to sink to his knees in front of Harry.

He raised his hands up towards the boy's face but didn't dare touch him– he just let them hover in the air between them before dropping them in his lap.

"You look so much like them, Harry," he told the boy, gaze slightly feverish. "James, Lily… yet, there is your grandmother, too. She was a Black, did you know that? Dorea Black, my great-aunt. Those cheekbones of yours are all Black, never any hint of cheekbone on either James or Lily."

"You knew them well, didn't you?" The boy's eyes were misty now and Barty suddenly felt like he was intruding on something private.

"Gods, Harry, I should have been there for you. I should never have gone after Pettigrew in the first place but I was _so_ blinded by hate and a need for revenge." Black was shaking now, memories almost visible behind his pale grey eyes. "I should never have given you to Hagrid, you were mine to protect and I _failed _you. And now _you_ saved _me_!"

With that, he was sobbing again but this time his huddled form folded in on itself until there was a huge black dog in his place, its uncanny pale eyes downcast. It was whining something fierce and leaned forward to press its nose into the boy's hand.

And because there'd never been a boy who could withstand the temptation of cuddling a big furry dog, Harry fell to his knees as well and hugged the big mutt around its broad neck. His face was hidden in the coarse fur and Barty could hear some muffled sobs.

"Splendid. You two get to know each other, I'll make some tea."

There was a rudimentary kitchenette and instead of using the ecelectrical kettle and setting fire to something, Barty did the sensible thing and heated the water with his wand.

Conjuring three chairs and a table, he brought three mismatched cups and the tea pot over and waited for the other two to get their reunion out of their system.

When they joined him after a few minutes, Black was back to human and Harry wore an actual smile on his face.

"So you're an animagus, too," Barty commented. "Was Jac- Harry's father one?"

"Yeah," Black replied, voice a little hoarse from emotion. "He was a great big stag. Majestic beast. Soo… do you guys actually live here?"

"Don't be foolish, this is no place for a child," Barty chided, offended. "We have a real flat. The boy's parents didn't leave him penniless, even if those relatives of his tried to make him think he was a pauper."

"We should be happy for that, Alfy. Imagine if they knew I had money– they'd have taken it _all_ and we'd be on the streets."

Sirius was looking between the two of them.

"You're not changing your voice anymore, _Alfy_, so I guess you're _really_ a bloke and not just double-bluffing? Look, I'm… really appreciative of everything you've done for my godson and I, but what exactly is your angle here? Why are you taking care of him?"

"Don't be suspicious, Sirius," Harry calmed him. "He's been there for me because no one else was. Just like with you. So many people should have cared for us, so many unasked questions and yet, only one person who ever asked them. You should be thankful– I sure am."

Sirius was taken aback. "I, well, I guess you're right. You are very insightful for your age, Harry, and, oh bugger. You're nine years old, now, aren't you? I missed so many birthdays, so many… milestones. Tell me, how long have you been with those awful Dursleys? Dumbledore wasn't forthcoming at all, he was miffed enough that it came out where he'd put you and that you'd been taken somewhere else without his knowledge."

"Alfy found me when I was 6," Harry told him. "It was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"They tried to beat the magic out of him, did you know?" The tone of Barty's voice made Black turn pale. "Who knows if he'd have even made it to Hogwarts."

"I just wonder why no one bothered to come looking," Sirius sighed, shaking his head. "It's so… sad. Just like me in Azkaban. At first, I was wrecked with grief and guilt but when I became lucid again, I kept waiting and waiting for someone to get me out of there, you know? Dumbledore, Crouch, Moody, _Remus_, heck, anyone! I believe it took me a whole year and young Barty Jr. dying and being thrown into the North Sea without anyone batting an eye to understand that no one was coming."

Harry's hand was on Barty's arm in an instant, squeezing gently.

"He was one of the death eaters, right?" Harry's voice was light and curious. "Did _you_, at least, mourn him?"

Black, eyes hooded with grief, slowly nodded his head. He croaked something, drank a sip of tea and then tried again.

"He was always screaming for his mother. I mean, he was just a kid, right?" Barty tried not to listen but needed to hear it nonetheless. "He had the mark, of course, but he was apprehended when Karkaroff ratted him out, he told me. On that man's word alone, he got sentenced for the torture of Frank and Alice– Longbottom, that is, together with the Lestranges. I don't know if he did take part but… he didn't strike me as the torturing for sport kinda guy, you know? Anyway, when he… wasn't sobbing and lucid enough we used to trade what happy stories we could remember.

One of the only more or less sane ones in that hellhole, he was. Then, one day, Crouch Sr. comes in with his little slip of a wife and mind you, he used to be my boss during the War and he didn't even _look_ at me. They stayed for a while, mother and son cried and whispered and cried some more and then they were off again. After, the boy was catatonic, didn't say hardly a word. I suspect they gave him something to, you know, help the natural order of things along. We were cell neighbours. The walls were solid stone of course but there were only bars to the hallway and I held his hand through those bars til he was gone."

Sirius' face was pale but it seemed he had no tears left in him. Barty felt himself deflate. Dear old mother, saving her son with her last dying wish only to have him sent to the next prison. But he was free now, and it was thanks to her that it was set in motion.

Harry looked at him, then, and faintly jerked his head in Sirius' direction. Barty shook his head but Harry jerked his head again and glared at him. Great. Apparently the kid had decided to trust Black. Well, the man did have no one but his godson in the whole wide world, did he?

"Black, there's… something we– _I_ need to tell you."

Black looked up at him, gaze empty and lost in the past.

"Harry has decided to trust you, and you've taken an Unbreakable Vow to help us however you can. Well, we need you to swear another one: to keep our secrets until such time as we give you explicit leave to talk about them."

"It'll be a nice change to be the one with the secrets," Black commented dryly. "Instead of everyone else always having secrets, that is. I've nothing left to lose except Harry anyway, so… whatever. I, Sirius Orion Black, do hereby swear to keep Harry Potter's and so-called Alfy's secrets until such a time as I'm given explicit leave to do so. So I swear, so mote it be."

"Thank you, Sirius!" Harry was delighted. "I'm so glad you decided to join us. I'd have hated to have parted ways with you again after just having gotten you back!"

"You'd have stayed with him, huh? I'm not surprised. Being helped by someone when no one else would, well, it's… it's a special bond, I'll give you that," Sirius said, self-consciously. "So what do you have to tell me?"

"My polyjuice potion will soon be wearing off," Barty told him. "I hate to repeat myself but– please don't freak out."

Black's eyes became huge. "You're not my brother, are you?"

"Regulus? No, no I'm _really_ not. I, uh, knew him, though. He was a friend before his disappearance."

"A friend?" Black's eyes fixated on Barty's clothed left forearm, alert again all of a sudden. "You're a death eater!"

As if on cue, the potion wore off and Barty felt the tell-tale tingle of his borrowed features morphing back into his own.

Instead of panicking, Black first stared at him in confusion, then in recognition and finally in awe.

"She switched with you…"

"She was a very frail woman, always sick– the Greengrass blood, you see? Only affects the women, though, and then not even all of them, so I'm good." He was rambling, he knew he was.

"You lucky bastard," Black laughed suddenly, the grin on his face a little too wild. "Escaped Azkaban, you did! Congratulations to you and rot to the whole island!"

With that, Black swept him right out of his chair and into a big bear hug before Barty was quite sure what was happening.

"But wait, you said you only found Harry when he was six? Was he so well-hidden?"

"It's a long story," the boy piped up.

Black sat down again and Barty left it up to Harry to explain his father's actions towards him, how they'd met and how they'd been living.

"So you've… just been teaching him Etiquette and History and stuff? No trying to turn him to the Dark Arts?"

"You'll find he's preternaturally predisposed to them," Barty said, shrugging. "He's a parselmouth."

Black's eyes became wide, then and he looked at Harry. "Is that true?"

"It is! I have a piece of Alfy's master in me!"

Harry excitedly pointed to his scar and while Barty wouldn't have chosen _that _exact way and moment to tell Black, he had to hand it to the boy that it fit in beautifully, thematically speaking.

"_What!"_

"We'll bring him back because Alfy misses him terribly!"

"_What_!" Black shook his head, staring at Harry as if he had spouted three heads. "Harry, he _killed_ your parents. He triedto kill _you_! How can you call him your master!?"

"Oh, he's not my master," Harry replied, waving the silly notion aside. "I won, so _technically _speaking, I'm the master."

Black seemed to be grasping for words, or his breath, or maybe both.

"But he _killed _your parents!"

"It was _war_," Harry argued. "He would never have gone specifically after them or me if it hadn't been for the prophecy!"

That prompted another long discussion about the prophecy, Snape's role in it all which had Black snarling and other loose odds and ends but Barty was happily droning it all out and stewing in his own thoughts. The locket. The ring. The diadem. The boy. Two more he needed to actually look for but he'd always liked a challenge.

"Oi, Crouch!"

Before he'd realised what he was doing, Barty was out of his chair and in Black's face. "Don't use that name for me, _never_ use that name for me!"

"Alright, alright," Black soothed, holding his hands up in surrender. "But Barty is okay? I can call you Alfy if you'd prefer."

"Calm down," Harry said, guiding him back to his chair. "I like Barty very much. I like Alfy too, but Barty really suits you. We'd better stick with Alfy though, for the time being. It's alright if I'm seen with Sirius publically and he calls me by name but we can't have your name floating around."

"As you wish," Barty acquiesced with a sigh. "I suppose I'll call you Harry, from now on? What's the plan then? Black is not gonna move in with us, there's only two bedrooms."

"He could sleep on the couch," Harry suggested. "As a dog, it might even be comfortable."

"Excuse me, I'm not sleeping as a dog on your couch," Black grumbled. "I have a flat over Diagon Alley I can sell for funds, I don't want to live as central as that ever again. I'm still technically the Black Heir since Grandfather Arcturus never disinherited me but as long as the old man is alive I only have access to the typical Black stipend."

"You've been imprisoned for years, surely the payments didn't stop? There might be a nice tidy sum in there by now," Barty reminded him.

"You're right," Black replied slowly. "And I almost _forgot_. I have a huge settlement from the ministry coming so I'll be loaded!"

"Roommates!" Harry threw his hands up and grinned at both of them.

So far, so good. This had gone a _lot_ better than Barty had expected. Black hadn't tried to take the young Lord from him and Harry was enthusiastic but cautious, just like he'd advised him.

To Black's chagrin, they decided to Apparate to their flat for the night instead of staying at the hotel. Since he didn't want to leave his godson's side so soon he did actually end up sleeping on the couch. In dog form.

Barty cackled all the way to his room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's me! Thanks for reading, commenting, bookmarking and all the kudos <3
> 
> A few commenters asked me about the possibility of a Barty/Sirius pairing in the future and I was like WAIT WHAT!? and realised that this might be a good idea? Just a heads up, this is definitely a thing that could happen in the future. No promises yet but I'm actually quite excited about it. I'm a sucker for rare pairs.

**Chapter 5**

Even though Black had kept his word and immediately sold his flat in Diagon Alley - making a tidy profit from when he first bought it - a new path soon opened up before them.

They were busy discussing where to move over breakfast a couple days after Black had joined them. While they were weighing up the anonymity of the muggle world with the convenience of a wizarding home, a regal-looking owl knocked its talons against their kitchen window and startled them all.

"Are you wearing your talisman, Harry?" Barty had his wand in his hand in a split second.

"I've never taken it off," Harry told him. "You know I wouldn't."

"It might be for me," Black reminded them. "Getting quite a few of these over the last weeks."

Not letting the owl out of his sight, Barty unlatched the window and the owl did indeed fly over to Black. Thank Merlin, non-existing crisis successfully averted.

"It's from my grandfather," Black realised after performing scanning spells on the envelope. "It's got the Black family seal on the back. As far as I know, he hasn't contacted anyone in the outside world for _years_ now."

Barty had lost interest as soon as it became clear that it wasn't for them and was fussing over Harry who was, in turn, busy fussing over the owl and feeding it bacon.

"He… invites me to join him in Black Manor," Black told them in disbelief after he was done. "Apparently, my being cleared of all charges has had him reconsider a few things and he wants to make it up to me. He says I could even bring you, Harry, if I were to find you."

"I won't go anywhere without Alfy," Harry said simply. "If he comes as my tutor, we'll consider it."

"Oh I'm sure that could be arranged, don't worry. But the possibilities! Nothing's as well-guarded as Black Manor," Black grinned, gaze calculating. "Not even the old townhouse I grew up in and my parents were _notoriously_ paranoid."

Barty wasn't sure yet what to think about this opportunity, so he pointedly looked at the old muggle clock above the kitchen door and cleared his throat.

"Don't you have a ministry-funded standing appointment at St. Mungo's?"

"Darn it, I very much do!" Black drained his coffee mug in one gulp, "We'll talk more later if you want, Harry. Bye!"

With a crack, Black was gone and Barty sighed. He knew it'd be a change of dynamics and yet– maybe it was a good thing? The boy needed other influences and even though Black's reputation wasn't the best in Dark circles, he was still a Black, the heir at that, and that could potentially open many doors.

"The tongue, Alfy."

"Ugh."

"What are you thinking about? Do you think we should accept the offer?"

Barty crossed his arms and started a thorough thinking process. Yet, just as quickly, he stopped and shook his head.

"You should tell me what _you_ think," he challenged, looking sideways at the boy. "Think not about what you want but what you need. To succeed. To gain influence."

Harry's lips were a thin line while he pondered.

"What I want is to stay here with you and keep studying, maybe have Sirius visiting every other day and he can sleep on the couch sometimes like he's been doing the last week." Then, he sighed. "But that's not what we _need_, you're right. If we want to do this right, we need to gain influence. To gain influence, we need to meet people– I need to meet people. Living at Black Manor would give me the opportunity to lie about where I've been staying, say I've been taken in by the Blacks all this time because I am one by birth and also because I'm Sirius' godson.

We could meet important people, even if they've proven to be traitors to your master. If they can help us, we can let _him_ do the judging once he's back."

"Tell me, Harry, when exactly did you decide to help me bring him back?" When the boy opened his mouth to speak, Barty hushed him with a raised finger. "Ah-ah-ah. Don't just say because you want to make me happy. Normal little boys don't want to resurrect their parents' murderer and team up with him. Do you _want_ to team up with him? Because the way you're talking, it sure sounds like you want to team up with him."

"I want to ask him questions," Harry admitted. "You told me about the Knights of Walpurgis– the death eaters are just a caricature of that. No offence. I need to know where it went wrong" (, so I don't make the same mistakes when I try to take over.), though the last part went unsaid.

They sat in silence for a moment before Harry spoke again.

"You really believe reuniting him with the horcruxes will make him… more sane?"

"It's just a theory," Barty admitted, "and a weak one at that. From what I remember him telling me, you can only reconnect with a part of your soul you sealed into a horcrux if you feel real regret for the murder you've committed to split it. It's a long shot at best, but maybe if I can devise a ritual that reunites them with him during the resurrection? Look, it's… I'm still a little hazy on the details but I'm working on it."

"Mhh," Harry answered noncommittally. "I might have an idea but you mustn't laugh."

"I would never!"

"Even if it's silly? It might be silly. It's just an idea and I have no idea if it could _possibly_ work."

Intrigued, Barty looked at the boy.

"Alright, I promise."

"Right." Harry took a deep breath. "There's a horcrux behind my forehead, or in my forehead, or, well, there is one. Inside of me."

Barty nodded. So far, so good.

"As far as we know, no one's ever made more than one before him, right? So maybe, since he made more than one, the horcruxes have a connection to each other that is as strong as the one to its main soul piece? Or at least _some_ connection to each other? If we were to collect them all, bring them together, we might be able to have them join the one inside me."

Harry was the one fidgeting now and Barty was too shocked about his words to say anything about it.

"Maybe it would be enough if _I_ were to feel true regret for the murders. Seeing as part of him is inside me? That way, if I can unify them into one _big_ piece, the only murder he'd have to really express regret for would be that of my mother or the attempted murder on me. Whatever made the horcrux. That might be in the realm of possibilities once we explain the situation to him."

It felt like Barty's mind had just stopped. There were no thoughts and his head felt pleasantly filled with cotton candy. Finally, when the reboot was done he looked at the boy. Really looked at him.

"You would do that?"

"If it was possible, yeah, I would. I don't think you liked the cackling madman. You liked the saner Lord Voldemort who didn't come out often. There's still the lonely little orphan Tom somewhere in there and I think… I think I might be just like him. Maybe I'd even _be_ him if I'd been born 60 years earlier? I want to know what he's capable of, and then I want him to help us."

"Help us with what?"

"Overhaul British Magical Society," the boy said simply. "From what you've told me, it's in dire need of changes. With Sirius, there's finally a feasible way to contact the big political players and get things started. I was thinking of contacting the Malfoys first. Sirius' cousin Narcissa is a Black so it wouldn't be out of left field."

"You beautiful, beautiful young man," Barty breathed, never having called Harry 'boy' to his face what with the connotations from his relatives. "You've actually thought this through, haven't you?"

"You send me to bed at 8," Harry shrugged. "We get up at 7 and I don't need that much sleep. I've told you, but I didn't want to argue when I could just as easily use that time for planning."

"I can hardly believe it," Barty whispered. "You've got a real plan, and you thought of it all by yourself."

Here, Harry's expression became shifty.

"Did I, though? Sometimes… sometimes it feels like I get an answer from nowhere when I'm stuck. And when I'm asleep there are these, well, visions, I guess? And when I wake up, I know what I have to do."

"You think it's him," Barty concluded, voice hoarse. "Are you afraid?"

Harry shook his head. "That's just the thing," he admitted, "I know that maybe I should be, seeing as how there's possibly someone else in my head. But then again, it's almost always been there, isn't it? Where do I end and where does the Horcrux begin? And maybe it's so much a part of myself that there is no end and no beginning. So no, I'm not afraid of myself. Never."

Barty processed that for a minute and even he noticed his tongue flicking out nervously. "If your plan works, and I'm saying that with a very big IF, what would that do to you? If you lose your Horcrux while feeding the other Horcruxes into the main soul, where will that leave you? We've got to find a way to keep them apart, somehow."

"Keep them apart? But I want them to join together!"

"I'm not saying it was a bad idea, Harry," Barty calmed him. "It's a very good one and might be the best shot we've got. We will try to join the other five soul pieces together inside you because you've proven to be a very resilient vessel _but_! we'll keep them apart from _your_ horcrux so that you can keep it."

"Okay, I can live with that," Harry agreed. "When will we get them?"

"I know where some of them are, but not all," Barty admitted. "The problem is that we know too little of how horcruxes work. When it says that the soul splits, does it mean that the first horcrux he made contains half his soul? Consequently, that would mean that he only had 1/64th of his soul left in the end and that's frankly ridiculous. Thoughts?"

"Maybe it's a certain percentage," Harry said slowly. "As in, maybe 10% of the main soul each time so he'd have 40% left?"

"Could be," Barty conceded. "Or, the manner of the murder committed plays a role and some led to a bigger split than others because of the impact it had on my master's soul. We probably won't find out so, just to be sure, we'll find as many of them as we can."

-o-

In the end, they wound up in Black Manor after all, its protections and status proving to be too tempting. They'd spent quite some time debating over Barty's new identity and eventually agreed he should stay Alfy for the time– Alfred Bo Hornby, to be exact: scion of a minor magical family who'd been born and raised in South Africa. Since all known members of the Hornby family living in England had perished in the First Wizarding War, it was as good a cover identity as any.

They'd briefly met Lord Arcturus Black upon their arrival who hadn't paid Barty any more mind than to thank him for watching after his grandson's godson. He had been more interested in Harry, but thankfully only in a polite, non-intrusive way.

Satisfied with how the boy's studies seemed to be progressing he'd welcomed him into the fold of the Black family and sent them to inspect their new quarters.

Black - Sirius, that is, and wasn't that going to get confusing soon? - must have alluded to the fact that Barty was no mere tutor, so he and Harry found themselves with rooms on the same floor and wing as Black. Sirius. Damn it.

"Alfy, my room is as big as our whole flat was," Harry told him after a brief inspection. "I'm not sure how to feel about that."

"How about grateful?" Barty was inspecting his own new writing desk while Harry was awkwardly standing in the doorway. "Look, Harry– this is how wizarding nobility lives. This is how you should have been living your whole life! It's only proper. Once you're of age you'll gain access to Potter Manor which is almost on par with Black Manor in terms of size."

"Huh," the boy said, strolling into the room. "I guess I haven't realised just how much money I was going to have– or properties."

"Or responsibilities," Barty reminded him. "Which means we'll resume our lessons tomorrow morning. We've been slacking off and it's already October! This time in two years you'll have been in Hogwarts for over a month."

"Sirius and I talked about this, you know?" Barty realised in an instant that this was one of these times where Harry was back to being a normal boy again, unsure and in need of guidance and he slowly led him over to two chairs facing each other. "Sirius asked why we're so adamant that I go to Hogwarts. He said I could just as easily go to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang or Ilvermorny. Why don't I do that, instead? Avoid Dumbledore and his manipulations outright."

Barty thought carefully about his reply.

"You want to change Great Britain, don't you? You can't change Great Britain coming from the outside. Grindelwald tried, he went to Durmstrang, as you know, and allied with the Germans. He tried to leave his mark here but he failed. No. If you want to affect change in this stagnant society, the change has to occur from within. You're the Boy-Who-Lived, however much you despise that moniker, and as such you hold a power over these people."

"I never wanted that kind of power over them," Harry admitted with downcast eyes. "They celebrate me for something I didn't even do and I hate it."

"How do you know that, though? For all we know, even as a toddler, you were able to beat the strongest wizard of our age," Barty reminded him. "We can ask him what's happened after he's back– that is, if he can even remember. But until then, we're operating under the assumption that you're the next big powerhouse and act accordingly."

"Isn't there like a test we can do? Magical core strength or something?"

"Oh sure, there are several," Barty drawled and immediately followed it with: "And they're rubbish, all of them. They don't account for how esoteric matters play into casting magic, experience, affinities to certain kinds of magic, none of that. All rubbish. We'll do it the old-fashioned way and teach you to duel and see how you do at school with casting magic."

"Alright," Harry agreed easily. "And, well, I also have things to do at Hogwarts that can only be done there."

"The Chamber of Secrets, yes of course. Dear old Salazar was about as covert about naming things as our favourite descendant of his. And the diadem. Mustn't forget the diadem."

"Right, yeah. I can do that."

"And there's one other thing at Hogwarts we need to get but I'll tell you about it later."

Harry looked at him uncertainly. "This is the first time you've mentioned another thing. Is it… important?"

"Easily as important as the diadem, yes, though it's not a horcrux. I'll tell you after you've gotten your heir rings, I promise."

Harry was, thankfully, okay with that. No use telling him about the Elder Wand yet and antagonise him further against Dumbledore. It was going to be a walk on a tightrope either way, with the way things were at the moment.

While Harry went to his own rooms to explore some more, Barty went deep into his mind and had a good old think. Now that they had the Blacks on their side, they could go about calling on potential allies. The Malfoys first, then the Notts. Old Cantankerous having a son the same age as Harry was a weird concept for him but each their own? Nott had been with his master from the start and would prove valuable if he were to be swayed to their cause.

They'd take things from there probably. But for now…

Barty left his room and went down the corridor. He stopped outside Black's– Sirius' door and knocked. Momentarily, the door opened and the man's pale eyes looked at him calculatingly.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering, Sirius," a slight rise of the man's eyebrows due to the informality, "if Black Manor was in possession of a dueling room. The way I see it, we're both incredibly rusty and could use all the training we can get if we want to protect our dear Harry in the future. No use inviting all manner of people here if we can't even cast a proper shield."

Sirius pondered that for a moment but Barty could see the excitement bubbling under his wiry frame.

"You got yourself a deal," he agreed easily. "Every second day starting tomorrow, 7pm. I'll show you the duelling room after dinner. Were you ever good at duels, before, or do I have to take it easy on you?"

"I'll have you know that my Lord had us battle each other from time to time for sport and I could hold my own against your dear cousin." Barty allowed himself a triumphant grin when he saw Sirius' face fall a little. "If you're a good boy today and tomorrow, maybe _I'll _go easy on _you_."

-o-

Turned out they were both all talk. There were some things you didn't forget when it came to duelling– things like footwork, spell chains and appropriate shields but it was hard to do the right thing in the heat of the moment when you were out of practice by seven years.

On mutual agreement, they both tapped out after a measly half an hour, panting harshly and clutching various aches. Good thing they'd agreed on nothing explicitly dangerous until they'd gotten the hang of it.

"Look at us," Sirius snorted, "choking on our breaths, ha, like some old men! I'm only, what, twenty… twentywhat? What year is it? 1989, isn't it? Means I'm–"

There, Sirius stopped and his eyes grew big. He looked at Barty with an expression so full of concern and deep-seated misery that it stirred something suspiciously like pity in him.

"My birthday is November 3rd," he finally whispered. "Next month… I'm, I mean, I will turn _thirty years old_ next month."

"Well if there's one person in this world who understands having their youth taken from them, I guess it would be me," Barty replied slowly, sighing when Sirius' pleading eyes bid him to keep talking. "It's hard, I know, it's the hardest thing in the world to have something taken from you that you have no hope of ever getting back."

"How do you even start? I have nothing left in this world except for Harry…"

"Then you care exclusively for Harry until you find something else that is worth a place in your heart," Barty shrugged. "Be it a some_one_, a some_thing_, who knows? To be honest, I've taken everything one step at a time. Didn't even have a grand master plan in the beginning. Give it some time, you've only been out roughly a month."

"I think I'll do that," Sirius nodded, combing a hand through his long hair that was slowly starting to look softer and healthier. "Take it slowly, that is. Baby steps, yeah, I can do that. Thanks, Alfy. I, I really appreciate it. You're alright, you know? For a death eater."

Here, Sirius winked with a strange expression and left the room.

What a sad, hollow man, Barty thought to himself. He only knew the feeling too well– finally getting _out_ only to find that there was hardly anyone out there waiting for you. He'd make a good ally, Sirius, formidable even. For the long run, that is, not just short term. He was smitten with the boy who was the only thing keeping his spirit tethered to this world and that was going to become very important the further they began to stretch their influence.

Yes, that was a relationship worthy to be cultivated. Regulus had had so much potential, as well… no, better not to dwell on what could have been. There was only one Black brother now, and they were going to need him.

Not for the first time, he thanked Harry's ability to instinctively do the right thing. With a bit of luck, they'd be able to gather quite a little troop of bodyguards for the boy at Hogwarts, now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning:  
At the very end of this chapter there is a scene that is reminiscent of a panic attack. It's more of a flashback, really, and neither long nor particularly terrible but I felt like I should warn you guys just in case :)  
Stop reading after dementors are mentioned if you want to avoid it, I'll provide a quick summary at the end!

It was late November when they had Harry's first official outing to Diagon Alley. With the boy's magical guardianship officially transferred to his godfather, they felt they needed to clear up some things at Gringotts, maybe even get the Potter accounts out of stasis.

Also, showing that their saviour was safe and sound and well-protected in the custody of the Blacks would send a powerful signal to the wizarding world.

As it were, Barty and Sirius had also become a lot less rusty, dueling-wise, and had even become comfortable enough with their skill level to let Harry come and watch a couple times. The boy had deemed it brilliant and wanted to start right away but the Trace made such fancies impossible.

Until they were at school, even the most noble of children had to make do with theoretical exercises only. Except for things like Potions and Flying, of course.

So they felt comfortable enough to embark on this trip. Should anyone try to do something, they wouldn't go down easily.

Barty declined the offer to join them in Gringotts itself, though, and set out to Knockturn Alley instead. They'd agreed he'd get a talisman to wear that would alter his physical appearance so he wouldn't have to rely on fallible glamours or drinking polyjuice potion whenever they were out and about.

Only problem was, there was no such thing as custom orders when it came to what he was looking for. He'd be lucky if the specialty shop who'd sold him Harry's talisman back then was still in business.

-o-

Luck proved to be on his side indeed, for he found who and what he was looking for. The shopkeeper's intelligent brown eyes bored into him and probably saw through the glamours as well. The man didn't have a prosthetic eye like that auror Moody did but he was a runemaster– who knew what kind of contraptions he'd inscribed and enchanted!

"A new face, then? What's wrong with the old one?"

"Nothing so much as the fact that it's _so_ handsome that people keep chasing me," Barty commented drily.

"Would those people happen to be aurors?"

"What's it to you? I can pay," Barty grunted, not happy with being questioned.

"You're in luck then, friend," the shopkeeper grinned. "I have what you need, even have a selection. Well, three, and one of them will make you look like a lady if that's what you're after. Otherwise, it's two."

He let Barty wear both male talismans. One turned him into a hunking barbarian of a man, easily nearing 6 foot 5 with big muscles and a chiseled jaw. He supposed this was for people who liked others to _look_ when they entered a room. He wanted the exact opposite though.

Thankfully, the next talisman made him look like, well, what he suspected an accountant to look like? Wearing the talisman, he was about 5 foot 10 with brown hair, brown eyes, a clean-shaven face and nothing at all noteworthy about his appearance.

"Perfect," he declared and paid a ludicrous amount of money to buy it.

Next, he took up position opposite Gringotts' entrance and waited for his charges to come back out. They were quite a while though and Barty noted with interest and not a little trepidation how more and more people seemed to have surreptitiously gathered around the entrance.

Word must have spread.

Cursing the curiosity of the wizarding world, Barty slipped his wand from his holster into his hand and waited patiently.

After 2 hours must have passed, Sirius and Harry finally emerged from the bank. Immediately, the mob descended upon them. Well, tried to. Barty had changed position in the meantime and was now waiting crouched on the marble steps of the bank.

With a muttered "_Protego_!" an invisible shield had the first wizards draw back as if struck. Harry's eyes met his and Barty nodded at him. The boy told Sirius he'd found him and the man nodded back at his new face.

"I have found my godson, as I said I would," Sirius told the gathered mob in an aristocratic voice. "He's been at the Black family estate because we are his closest wizarding blood family and Mr. Dumbledore had no right to keep him from us. That is all I will say on this matter."

"We want to meet him," one of the onlookers demanded and several others seconded that motion.

"He's a nine-year-old boy," Sirius reminded them, shielding Harry behind him. "You will let us through undisturbed or I will have to call the aurors. This is no way to treat a _child_, no matter how well-known."

"Mr. Black, Ignaz Hawthorne from the Daily Prophet, may we ask you and your godson a couple questions?"

Drawn in by the commotion, the mob was steadily growing and Barty poured more power into his shield. This was not at all how this was supposed to go. Behind Sirius and Harry, the goblin guards were watching the exchange and he saw one of them press a hidden panel on the wall behind him.

He nodded again at Harry. They had to play for time here.

"I will answer three questions," Harry told the crowd and immediately, there was silence.

It only lasted so long though because suddenly _everyone _wanted to ask a question. Harry looked overwhelmed and pointed randomly at a middle-aged woman who beamed when she was chosen.

"Mr. Potter, my daughter Ginny has been sending you a letter on your birthday every year but she's never gotten an answer. Can you tell us why you don't reply to your fans and admirers?"

Harry took a deep breath and his expression became sad.

"I'm very sorry about that, Ma'am," he told her in a clear but apologetic voice. "It was only today that I found out that my former, illegal magical guardian, Albus Dumbledore, has erected an equally as illegal mail-redirection charm over me. With the help of the goblins and my true magical guardian, Sirius Black, I have finally reverted it just today. From now on, I will be able to receive my mail again."

The crowd gaped at that and Barty could hear some calls for Dumbledore's arrest. The mail-redirection came as a surprise to him as well, for sure, but it explained a lot. Seemed they'd have to deal with lots of mail from now on. Great.

"Be aware, though, that the wards of Black Manor will keep out anything that might bring harm to my godson. Now, second question?" Sirius addressed the crowd, scanning them and selecting an older man, dressed in expensive robes.

Barty felt comfortable lowering the shield to preserve energy. The mob was seemingly satisfied, now that Harry was answering questions.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, will you be taking part in politics now, seeing as your families have hereditary seats on the Wizengamot?"

"Not yet," Sirius answered. "My grandfather Arcturus is still Lord Black and will be for the years to come. And Harry is not even of Hogwarts age! For now, we will take the time to heal and get to know each other. I won't rule out the possibilities of meeting with prospective alliance members though."

Barty frowned and looked closer at the man who had asked the question. He looked vaguely familiar. Not a death eater, as far as he knew, but he knew him from somewhere, maybe?

"Thank you for the question, Lord Ogden, who else?"

Tiberius Ogden! Of course. An illustrious member of the Wizengamot who, to his credit, had never liked Barty's father. That's why he hadn't seen him much at dinners or other social events his father had occasionally dragged him to.

Harry called on an unassuming young woman next.

"Mr. Potter, is there anything you want to tell the wizarding world? Your fans and admirers and maybe also to those who are… not?"

A good last question. Barty looked closer at her and saw her take out a notepad and a self-inking quill the second Harry addressed the crowd at large. A reporter then, and a good one.

"I'm really just Harry," the boy told the waiting crowd. "I grew up poor for the first years of my life until someone who asked the right questions found me and freed me from the prison Albus Dumbledore put me into. Since then, my life has become loads better but we never forget our humble beginnings– so please, don't think of me as some kind of infallible beacon of hope against the Dark. I'm just a child. And in that same vein: Every book that has ever been written about my life is a lie. Every account of the night my parents died is a lie. Everything you think you know about the chain of events leading up to October 31st, 1981, is a lie."

The crowd was very silent after that and he could see a few people look at the boy with different eyes than before. Most people, on the other hand, realised that this had been the last question and were starting to get agitated again.

Fortunately, that was when a small troop of armoured goblins poured out of Gringotts and took up position between Harry, Sirius and the crowd. The two were shepherded back into the bank and he saw Harry questioningly looking back at him. He shook his head. He'd stay here and watch the fallout.

Once the goblin troop was gone, the energy of the crowd changed and a few dispersed. Most stayed though, and he watched the people talking to and over each other. Human beings in a mob, Barty thought to himself, snorting a little. His master had never enjoyed attacking big crowds because people became stupid.

One or two capable wizards were a challenge but a whole crowd of them was like slaughtering cattle.

The reporter who had been responsible for the impromptu press conference, Hawthorne, was striding up to him now. Leave it up to the press to notice the little things.

"Hello," the reporter greeted him. "I saw you erect the shield that saved Mr. Potter and Mr. Black from the wild love the people hold for their saviour. May I ask about your relation to them?"

"I'm Alfred Hornby," Barty told him nonchalantly. "I grew up in South Africa and answered Lord Black's call for an international tutor for the boy."

"The boy? You mean Mr. Potter?"

"The very same," Barty affirmed. "Can't have my pupil trampled by a well-meaning but no less overwhelming mob."

"Of course not, no," Hawthorne replied suavely. The man knew he had a story here. "Is there anything else you can tell us about your pupil?"

"He's a nice boy," Barty shared, finally getting up from the marble steps. "Your average nine-year-old, really. He likes to learn about great battles, the history of his families and he's recently taken up broom-riding. He's quite good at it."

"I see," the reporter nodded, noting some words down. "I'm sure you'd like to join your companions now. Here, if you ever want the boy to give a proper interview, I'd be glad to do the honours."

Barty took the proffered card with a nod and excused himself. By now, the crowd had mostly dispersed though some people were still casting longing glances toward the bank, among them the red-headed woman who'd asked the first question. Standing behind her not insubstantial bottom were a young boy and girl, equally as red-headed. He guessed them to be around Harry's age and was uncomfortably reminded of the fact that soon, the boy would have to deal with his _admirers_ on his own.

High time to forge some fletchling allegiances, then.

-o-

Early December, the Malfoys were set to visit.

In the meantime, life in Black Manor had found a rhythm. Harry spent two hours every morning and every afternoon, sometimes more, being tutored by Barty in various subjects. Before lunch, while Sirius was still in St. Mungo's, the boy had taken to visiting old Arcturus in his quarters and learning about the history of the Black family from him.

Most of the time nowadays, the elderly man joined them in the informal parlour for lunch and dinner. Barty was not unhappy about it since Arcturus had been truly neutral during the last war and the stories and shreds of wisdom the old man shared with them were not without merit. While not as fanatically Dark as his master or Grindelwald or people like the Lestranges had been, Arcturus was still, at heart, a Dark Wizard who had knowledge about the Dark Arts that was new even for him.

The old man had soon found out that he wasn't who he claimed to be and Barty had willingly spilled the beans. In return, Arcturus had taken him to the true Black Library– a veritable treasure trove of ancient tomes and forbidden books.

"Staying neutral during the last war has almost cost me my whole family, young Barty," the old man had confided while Barty had been taking in the huge room filled to the brink with books. "I know your master is not yet dead and next time, I will not make the same mistake. The Light has forsaken my grandson and Heir and thanks to you and my great-nephew, there may yet be a next generation of Blacks."

Barty, ever mindful of appearing proper in the presence of experienced Dark Wizards, had found himself bowing low.

"I thank you for your trust, Lord Black," he had replied, avoiding meeting the man's eyes. "I will not disappoint you or yours."

"You have many secrets, young man," the old man had deduced. As old as he was, almost ninety!, his pale eyes were still as sharp as they must have been in his youth.

"I do," Barty had agreed. "Unfortunately, Azkaban and my father's prison have wrought havoc upon my Occlumency barriers and I have no way of receiving my late father's Lord ring."

"Then you need to be careful. I shall look into an idea or two I have to help you in the coming months."

With that, the man had left him alone in the Library and Barty had taken to spending almost all the time he wasn't tutoring Harry or duelling Sirius in there. If there was a place in this world where he would find everything he needed to devise a Dark ritual to resurrect his master and reunite him with his Horcruxes in the process, this was it.

So it was with great reluctance that he left the library to don the best robes he owned, put on his talisman and join Harry and Sirius in the foyer to meet the guests of the hour.

Finally, when the clock struck 11, the fire turned green and Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the flames. He hadn't changed much since Barty had seen him last– a couple more crow's feet around the eyes and wouldn't that be terrible for the vain dandy? Next, Narcissa came through, radiant as ever. She'd never taken the Mark but she had been one of them alright.

Lastly, their son stepped out. Draco Lucius Malfoy, about Harry's age and with hair as platinum blonde as both his parents. After the usual introductions, Sirius led the Malfoys to the sunroom. The adult Malfoys sat down on one of the larger settees with their son in the middle.

Sirius and Harry shared a smaller settee and Barty sat down in one of his favourite armchairs.

"I've missed this place," Narcissa said wistfully, looking around. "Nothing's changed. I feel like a little girl again. The last time I was here, I must have been your age, Draco."

The boy paled a little at being addressed directly so early. Barty wouldn't put it past Lucius to have drilled the importance of this meeting into him.

"That must have awakened lots of memories for you, mother," Draco replied slowly. "I'm glad you can see it again and I hope I will also make memories here."

"You could come visit sometime," Harry offered. "I think I should like to have a friend my age who is also a wizard."

Draco beamed at that and even Lucius' stony expression melted a little. Barty had no doubt that was what the man wanted, too.

"It's been a surprise to find out you've found the boy when even Dumbledore has been unable to," Lucius drawled. "How did you manage this feat, if you care to share it?"

"I didn't," Sirius replied easily. "Grandfather commissioned a… professional and Harry has been here ever since. When I officially got out, he contacted me and I moved here. It's really not as grand as doubtlessly lots of people make it out to be."

"Well, however it happened, I'm glad you're back with the family, dear," Narcissa cooed at Harry who blushed. "I hope we'll see more of you. We're all cousins, after all."

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry replied, looking at his feet.

"Oh, none of that," Narcissa said easily. "You may call me Cousin Narcissa if you'd like. May I call you Harry?"

"Sure, yes, I'd like that, Cousin Narcissa."

Endearing. Narcissa must have been one of the first women to be nice to the boy and he was suitably overwhelmed with the positive attention.

"Did you ask us here for a particular reason or simply to renew familial connections?" Lucius was straight to the point as ever. A boon in dire times, but in these intimate situations it felt a little too rough.

"It would certainly be alright if this was only a social call," Narcissa added, mouth a thin line following her husband's faux pas.

"No, don't worry," Sirius calmed them. "Like I said in front of Gringotts when we were… swarmed, Harry and I want to meet with potential alliance partners and find our footing in magical Britain's political landscape. And who best to start with but family?"

"Is it true what it said in the paper then?" Draco was eyeing Harry eagerly and his father looked ready to smack the child.

"You'll have to elaborate," Harry said with no small amount of trepidation.

"Your tutor," here, Draco nodded towards Barty, "said that you've started to learn how to ride brooms. Are you any good?"

"Oh, yes, I did," Harry beamed, relieved. "It's wicked to fly but I don't know how good I am. I do enjoy it, though. We had the house elves freshen up the old Quidditch pitch in the gardens. Do you want to see? Can we go see, Sirius?"

"Oh _please_ say yes, mother!"

Sirius and Narcissa exchanged a glance and both shrugged.

"Why not, sure," Sirius allowed. "But Harry, you should give your cousin one of your warmer cloaks while you're outside. It's getting cold. And you'll take Alfy with you to look over you."

Both boys eagerly jumped up from their seats and Barty trailed behind them to Harry's room. _Anything_ to get away from politics. They'd agreed to leave most of the politicking to Sirius but that Barty would still be there to keep an eye on Harry lest anyone try something stupid.

-o-

With both boys bundled up to his satisfaction, Barty let Harry lead the way to the Quidditch pitch. He'd always liked Quidditch when he was younger; he'd even been a Chaser in the Ravenclaw team despite acing all his exams. He supposed that fifth year had been the last time his father had ever been proud of him.

After that, what little attention he'd had to spare for his son and his wife had been used up for his fight against the Dark Lord and so it seemed only natural to spend more time with those who planned on following his master once they'd finished their education. Then, his father would have had to pay attention to him, too.

Watching Harry and Draco, with black and blonde hair respectively, he was reminded of another duo with the same colours. Surreptitiously drawing his hand over his eyes and quickening his steps to keep up, he pushed every thought of Regulus way back down where it belonged.

"I have a Quidditch pitch, too," he heard Draco boasting. "And I've been flying since I was four."

"That's nice," Harry replied. "Alfy's a really good flyer and he's been teaching me some. Sirius, too, when he has time. His first job is getting better at the moment, says great-uncle Arcturus."

Draco looked back at Barty with a doubtful look in his pale eyes.

"He doesn't look like a flyer," the boy commented and Barty found himself quickly coming to dislike the son as much as the father.

"Looks are deceiving," Barty commented drily. "Should you come here in summer, I shall show you a thing or two."

-o-

"What did you think about Draco?"

Harry eyed Barty with an unimpressed expression on his young face. "I'm not a fan."

"The Malfoys can be a handful," Barty conceded. "I didn't want to cloud your first impression with my own misgivings about Lucius. Well, the ones apart from the fact that he's a _bloody traitor_ like the rest of 'em."

"Are we going to the Yule Ball they invited us to?"

"Ugh, surely not. We'll just argue that Sirius is not yet well enough to attend social gatherings of this magnitude. And it won't even be a lie. Maybe next year."

"He's getting better, though," Harry argued. "He smiles more. I like it when he smiles, but sometimes when he does it, he looks so empty and that makes me sad again. It's all very strange."

"Well, dementors _do_ literally suck out every happy memory you have over time," Barty shrugged. "I imagine after so many years, he doesn't have many left. I should think that what makes him happy nowadays reminds him of something similar he's experienced in the past and when he goes to remember it– there's nothing there."

There was a silence between them at that and Barty was surprised to see his hands shaking when he looked down.

"Oh Alfy," Harry whispered, taking his hands. "I'm so sorry, I'll make it all better. I'll make them pay!"

The atmosphere in the library was suddenly stifling and Barty wondered whether the books had always exuded that tomb-like feeling.

"I don't feel so good," he managed to press out before his legs gave way and he found himself kneeling.

"Alfy, is everything alright? Barty? **Sirius**!"

The shadow crouching behind a shelf of books suddenly stretched out a hand towards Harry and Barty's eyes grew huge.

"_Expecto Patronum_," Barty snarled towards it, wand drawn, but only the tiniest sliver of silver shot out.

"Barty, what are you doing? Alfy? You're scaring me!"

"Get behind me," Barty commanded in a rough voice, shoving the boy just there. "They'll have to go through me first and I got _plenty _of experience."

The shadow was closing in now and all around him he could hear the terrible sound of dementors sniffing the air. His knees were shaking but he stood his ground, determined to protect his young lord who wasn't able to use his own magic yet. 

"But there's nothing there, you're hallucinating things," Harry pleaded. "You're not in Azkaban anymore and you're not with your father, either, Alfy. Please come back!"

The genuine fear in the boy's voice brought Barty back to the present and he realised the shadows for the mirages they were. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned to Harry who was crying softly.

"I'm so, so sorry, Harry," Barty breathed, again sinking to his knees and hugging the boy's middle. "There is so much fucking wrong with me and it's not fair that you've had to see that."

"Does it, does it happen often?"

Repressed memories of jumping at shadows in his father's mansion while stuck under an invisibility cloak tore at his mind and still more images of waking up drenched in sweat and breathing heavily almost every night followed in their wake.

He had been so good, _so _good about not having the episodes when the boy was around and then he just _had_ to start talking about dementors and blow it all. Good job, Barty, he could hear his father say, made everyone unhappy, did you?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept chanting into the boy's stomach and wept while small arms cradled his head and a clear voice told him that it was going to be okay over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick summary: Barty imagines seeing a dementor in the library and tries to protect Harry with a Patronus but fails to produce one. Harry's distress at seeing him like that lets Barty get his head on straight again and he breaks down completely after Harry realises that he's been suffering these attacks for... quite some time now :(


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I started uploading two more stories that are gonna end up Harry/Voldy since I last updated this a week ago? :0  
If you like my writing, you might like to check them out after this :>

The evening after his unfortunate breakdown in front of Harry, Barty had no patience for being inside anymore. It was not a duelling evening so he didn't have to give any excuses as to his whereabouts and simply shrugged on some warm clothing before heading outside. 

Since Black Manor was Old, capital O and everything, it had extensive grounds you could probably wander for hours if you were inclined to do so– which, frankly, he was. He'd spent too much time holed up in the library, a throwback to his time being held prisoner beneath the dreaded invisibility cloak.

Only stale air and itching fabric covering his face for 4. whole. years! It was a wonder he hadn't cracked. Each night spent curled around his left forearm and stroking the mark there reminding him of what he'd lost: a father figure, a cruel one, to be sure, but nevertheless one that was more attentive than his _ real _ father had ever been. 

On an intellectual level he knew that great leaders made everyone feel special. That they had a gift of implanting every follower with the assumption that they and they alone were the one who understood their leader the most. But damn it if he didn't do the same! 

While walking along an overgrown path through a thick forest quite a distance from the manor, Barty remembered the nights spent kneeling at his master's feet, greedily soaking up the knowledge Voldemort dared share with him. Remembered the feel of his master's featherlight Legilimency touches in his mind, implanting knowledge and erecting walls around them no Veritaserum or Imperious Curse could have struck down. 

A failsafe, he'd called it. He had been so sure about Barty's loyalty from what he'd seen in his mind that he'd chosen him, him!, from among all his followers to house that sacred knowledge. And then Barty had gone and gotten thrown into Azkaban! He'd only been fucking _ meeting _ with Bellatrix _ fucking _ Lestrange to find out where she had put the fifth horcrux he knew their master had entrusted onto her! What a great fucking idea that had been.

Frustrated with himself, Barty pulled at his own hair, muttering obscenities and swaying slightly as he rocked from side to side. How could he _ possibly _ ask her now!? 

He wandered deeper into the forest, trying to get the damn thinking machine in his head to _ shut up _ and let him have some peace and quiet for once. The darkness felt good when it closed around him and he imagined it to be the nothing he had seen when he had pressed his face into his master's robes and wept with joy with only the long, pale fingers carding through his hair to ground him. 

Then, a thought struck through the haze and had him stop in his tracks.

The walls Voldemort had erected hadn't failed because _ he _ had failed. It was a failsafe– in the event that his master's first life should be forfeit, it _ was meant to enable him to find the horcruxes_. It hadn't been a happy coincidence at all and–

Of course. Barty was a smart man. Slightly, Slightly unhinged, he knew that also, but this was a realisation he should have arrived at a _ lot _ sooner. His master had planned it all! Had woven a beautiful dark web into Barty's mind that would only start to unravel once he was in a position to use the knowledge!

The moment his subconscious had started associating Black Manor with _ safety _ and _ home _, another barrier had been lifted. 

He fell to his knees where he stood and started sobbing. Voldemort had planned this all along, all of it. His master had been so much smarter than anyone had ever actually given him credit for, hadn't he? No, no past tenses. He _ was _ still so much smarter, keeping himself hidden until the time was right. 

But when was it right? When Harry was in Hogwarts and could recover the Diadem, the Basilisk and the Wand? Or only after the boy was more well-versed in magic? It was maddening, even Voldemort hadn't been able to foresee Harry being such a pivotal part of everything. 

If only he had a _ sign _ to guide him, he thought bitterly, wiping his eyes furiously to get rid of the tears. 

Silence. 

Then, there was a _ snort _ next to him. 

Barty was on his feet in an instant, drawing his wand and casting a silent _ lumos_. 

The light shone on a reptilian head adorned with pale eyes and for a beautiful, terrifying moment, Barty thought Death had come for him on his steed. Then, he realised he was looking at a thestral who was backing away from his wand, clearly spooked. 

"Ohh, nonono, my pretty, I'm sorry," he cooed, extinguishing his wand.

The thestral snorted again and Barty giggled, reaching for the leathery head. Sniffing his hand, the big death-horse moved forward and nudged the side of his head. He couldn't see because the darkness was stifling after the bright light but he petted the thestral nevertheless. Always had had a bit of a knack for magical critters, he did, Care of Magical Creatures having been his only self-indulgent subject. 

"Of course the Blacks would have thestrals, wouldn't they," he mumbled more to himself than the great beast and giggled a little. 

When his eyes had adjusted better to the darkness once again, Barty looked searchingly into the the thestral's pale eyes and imagined to find understanding there.

Was this really his sign? A beast to remind him of all the death he'd seen? Had caused? All the lives lost, magical blood spilled? His own father– no. That man had earned it by making it a public spectacle to throw his own son into Azkaban and keeping him a prisoner in his own _ home _ for years.

This was not merely a reminder. 

It was a promise. 

A dark promise of revenge and triumph and the conquest of Death itself. 

"Thank you, master," Barty whispered, stroking the thestral's leathery skin. 

He wouldn't disappoint Lord Voldemort. Of all his followers, he was the one to bring about the rebirth and the cleansing. He would carve a new, improved master, one fit to lead this country into a new age. 

With a lighter heart, Barty smiled. 

-o-

"Alfy, where have you been? It's the middle of the night, you weren't at dinner and we were so worried after your… _ episode _ in the library." 

Barty looked up at Sirius standing in the doorway like a sentinel, the Illumination from inside making it look like he had a full-body halo. He'd forgotten dinner, then. Not as inconspicuous as he'd hoped after all. 

"I'm sorry," he replied and was relieved to find he meant it. "I needed to do some… soul-searching, you might call it. Where's Harry?" 

"Asleep. Or, well, at least in his rooms, I doubt he is actually sleeping." Sirius hadn't changed into his nightwear and looked very tired. "Are you alright?" 

"I am now." 

He let himself be led into a small sitting room where Sirius must have held his vigil. A half-empty coffee mug, an empty bowl with some crumbs in it and a worn muggle book were waiting in front of a crackling fire. 

"1984? What's that about?" 

"Oh, Lily showed it to us back then," Sirius shrugged. "Told us that you can never let dystopia rule and to always be good and work for a better world."

"We _ are _ working towards a better world," Barty reminded him, not sure he liked where this was going. 

"I thought that back then, too, and look where it got me." Sirius' voice was bitter but he shook his head as if to clear it. "Never mind that now, where have you been? The wards didn't tell Grandpa that anyone had left, so you must have been outside all night?" 

"I'm not sure where exactly I was on the property," Barty admitted. "Just followed my feet for a while, you see? I, wow this is embarrassing. I asked my master for a sign and… fate gave me one? A thestral found me."

"There are still thestrals left around here? That's amazing!" Sirius was grinning like a little kid all of a sudden. "We had a whole herd here when I was younger but with the War and everything, I doubt anyone still cared for them. A house elf, maybe? I'd have to ask them tomorrow. But I guess they'd be able to care for themselves rather well too, wouldn't they? You'll have to show me where you saw it!"

"I will, sure, yeah. But for now, you should probably head to bed. You look terrible." 

"Says Mr. Dark Circles himself," Sirius snorted. "And don't think you're let off that easy by sidetracking me with magical beasts. You, mister should see a mind healer just like me. They really do help!" 

"Sure. And _ where_, exactly, would I find someone who specializes in long term dementor and Imperious curse exposure who isn't also smart enough to put 2 and 2 together and get me thrown back into that hellhole?" 

At his acerbic tone, Sirius' face fell and Barty regretted his harsh words. 

"Look, Sirius it's… it's a nice sentiment and I appreciate it, but I've been living with this for years and years now and there are no options for me at this point. I'm going to concentrate on getting my master back and that's that. Once he's in charge I'll be acquitted and see about getting some, some _ therapy _or whatever."

"But that could be _ years _ from now!" 

"I'm not going to have another episode in front of Harry if that's what you're afraid of," Barty promised, getting irritated. "I'll be more careful." 

"No, I don't think you understand. You're _ my _ friend too, you know? I don't want you to have _ any _ breakdowns, ever. Not if I can help it!" 

"Still so Light, Black," Barty teased with a tired smile. "Always trying to fix everything. I'm not broken. This is just the way I am now– please don't try to fix me." 

Sirius sighed and if he were in his dog form his ears would probably be drooping. 

"Will you tell me if you change your mind?" 

"I can do that, yeah." Not that he would. 

"And if you ever need someone just to talk or anything, even if it's in the middle of the night, you can come to me, alright? I know our demons and we've kept them away from each other once before, all those years ago." 

Huh. That memory sent a pang through his chest and Barty found himself swallowing uneasily. 

"I will, Sirius," he whispered. "Thank you. I'm, uh, I really appreciate it. And I will take you up on that one of those days, I guess." 

"Good, very good," Sirius replied, a little awkwardly. "And now off to bed with you, you look as terrible as I must look _ and _ your hair is full of leaves!" 

Barty went without a protest, but didn't go to bed before visiting Harry for a second to assure him that he was okay now and that the plan was still on. 

-o-

It was Yule and Arcturus had called for a Black family reunion– not that there were many left. With Narcissa preoccupied with her own Yule Ball, Bellatrix in Azkaban and Andromeda not willing to renew relations with the family that had cast her out, at the moment, there were only three old Blacks left but Arcturus had assured them that those were still powerful and influential in their own right. 

So, when the library door opened where Barty was spending his evening, he had expected Harry. Asking him to join them after all even if he didn't strictly belong or just seeking comfort in each other's presence for a minute before slinking back to his new-found relatives. 

Instead, an ancient witch clad in the finest robes of off white silk glided through the door and made for where Barty was curled up in his favourite armchair, the low table in front of him littered with parchment full of haphazard arithmantic formulas. Crossed out, drawn back in, crossed out again, arrows all over the place– a rough draft. 

She stopped before him and eyed his work with one elegant eyebrow lifted impossibly high. 

"Interested in rituals, are you?" 

Her voice was hard and unyielding like a glacier and Barty suddenly felt like a little boy under her scrutinizing gaze. 

"Yes," he answered noncommittally, wondering what she wanted with him. 

"I have heard so very much about you, Mr. Hornby. Teaching darling Hadrian about our beautiful world, why, the press is _ smitten._"

In the face of such unexpected thinly veiled adversity, Barty folded Alfy's limbs out of the armchair to rise and face the witch fully. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name, ma'am," he apologised easily. 

"I am Cassiopeia Black," she replied with a steady voice. "And I will have you know that I knew the Hornbys here in England back before they were all killed." 

"Oh, you'll have to tell me about them sometime," Barty lied. "I bet your stories are a lot more recent than the ones I grew up with." 

"That's just the thing," the old witch sighed with a glint in her eye. "Like most pureblood families, even the minor ones, they all looked terribly alike in their little family confines, you see? And yet– you look _ nothing _ like them." 

"I see," Barty said slowly, carefully. "Must be all that South African blood coming through, I guess? My part of the family has left Britain over 50 years ago, after all." 

"Don't take me for a _ fool _, boy," Cassiopeia thundered, walking up very, uncomfortably close to him. "I may not be a young woman anymore but I'm no old biddy." 

She made to reach for something but where Barty had expected her to reach for her wand and was about to draw his own, she suddenly grabbed his left arm with a surprisingly fast motion. 

Before he'd processed what she was trying to achieve, the old witch had pushed his sleeve up and he hissed in irritation. 

Even the stupidly-expensive talisman hadn't been enough to hide something Voldemort didn't want you to hide. 

"As I thought," she whispered. "If this is you, Regulus, I will personally skin you for making us all think you were dead for so long." 

"Why does every one of you Blacks think I'm _ Regulus_," Barty complained in shocked surprise. "We sound _ nothing _alike!" 

"So you knew him," Cassiopeia deduced. "You sound to be about his age, too. It's only a matter of time until I know who you are, young man, so you'd better spit it out before I lose my patience."

"I have the trust of Lord Black himself and his heir. Surely that should be enough for a nosy old woman like you?" 

He was exceptionally miffed by how uncomfortable the old witch was making him. Of course, everyone of the old Purebloods knew about Cassiopeia Black's Little Black Book that contained secrets and gossip about everyone who was anyone. It had been compiled by her during a lifetime of access to many important people, having once played host for monthly Pureblood get-togethers. In other words: she was dangerous when crossed. 

Barty knew even his father had gone to her parties a couple of times at the very beginning of his career to get to know people and cultivate connections. 

"It is not enough, foolish boy! Tell me now or I'll get the Prophet's editor Barnabus Cuffe to run a piece on Harry Potter's _ tutor from South Africa _ and you won't like the fallout if I do!" 

"Barty Crouch," he practically spat out and watched with satisfaction how Cassiopeia paled. 

"He died over two years ago," Cassiopeia whispered. "Was that a lie?"

"Not _ that _ Barty Crouch," he found himself snarling, taking a step forwards while the old witch was taking one back. 

"Surely not," she said with wide eyes, all prior confidence gone in an instant at the prospect of dealing with a dead man. "That one's been gone even longer. So much Black blood lost in the throngs of this ghastly war…" 

Now, it was Barty's turn to stop and stare at the old woman. 

"Black blood?" 

"Stop your glamours, boy, I need to see your face," Cassiopeia commanded and Barty reluctantly took of his talisman. "A fine piece of work, that. But aah, _ yes_, I see it now. You're Charis' blood alright." 

"Charis? Grandmother Charis? She was a _ Black_?" 

"She was my cousin," Cassiopeia sighed, stroking her small, slender fingers over Barty's cheek. He didn't know how or why, but he let her– too shocked at the tender touch to say anything. "She died when you were, what, 10? 11?"

"Just after I'd started Hogwarts, ma'm," he shared, his mind working at a hundred miles a minute. "Father, he, he never told me about her heritage and I never saw her much because he didn't like his parents very much. She was always so nice when we came to visit, though…" 

"In your father's fight against Voldemort, he forsook all those he considered Dark, Barty," she told him with a sad smile. "But I see your grandmother in your eyes; and you have her chin. We were cousins, her and I. You are as much a Black as our darling little Harry is." 

At that, Barty's knees started shaking and he looked at Cassiopeia as if he'd never seen another human being before in his life. 

"We're… family?" 

"Come on then, young Barty," she said instead of answering directly and dragged him along with her. 

He went willingly, still slightly dazed, and tried for a watery smile when Sirius and Harry looked at him questioningly. The other two Black family members he didn't know yet were watching him and Cassiopeia with apprehension and curiosity. 

"Alfy? Why are you not wearing your, you know… Are you alright?" Sirius sounded worried. 

Cassiopeia hustled him towards a chair and had him sit down. 

"Cygnus, Pollux, I am proud to present to you: Bartemius Crouch Jr., son to Bartemius Crouch Snr. and grandson to Charis Black." 

Everyone at the table simply stared until old Arcturus found his voice. 

"Charis," the old man whispered reverently in his weak voice. "Of course, yes, how could I not… but she's been gone so long now, and her son never wanted anything to do with us so I must have– oh, but where are my manners! Even though you may not carry the name, you are still a member of this family if you so wish, Bartemius. Not least because of your service to my grandson and his godson."

Cassiopeia looked like the cat that got the cream and sat down next to him. 

"And here I thought I would merely have to threaten a random tutor to treat my new darling great-nephew well," she said with a dangerous glint in her eye. "There's a whole _ story _ here and _ I don't know it._" 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all true I didn't make it up!!! Charis Black and Caspar Crouch are, for all intents and purposes, Barty Crouch Snr.'s parents. Well, at least it's the going theory and ALL the dates fit. 
> 
> Also, we're going with Dorea and Charlus for Harry here, as you've noticed. Not those ret-conned excuses with the stupid names.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the way this is tagged, please. Some violence ahead :)

Cassiopeia hadn't left that Yule evening before she hadn't heard what she deemed an acceptable amount of information about Barty's and Harry's exploits before they'd been returned into the fold of the family (the _ family_!) this year. 

Much to their surprise, she had announced herself for every Wednesday afternoon starting with the new year to go over an updated version of the Who is Who with Harry since Barty's information about the old families was rather general and he didn't know much about the newest scions– especially those Harry would share a school with. 

But that had been three days ago, and now it was Boxing Day and for the first time in about 10 years, ever since he'd left Hogwarts, really, there was a small pile of presents with his name on them under the tree. His last two Christmases spent with Harry, the boy had gifted him with drawings he proudly displayed on his walls, but this… this was _ different_. 

The first thing he opened with shaking hands, while Harry was laughing in joy about his own presents next to him, was a book. The title read '_Rituals Moste Foule_' and his mouth ran dry because not even the Black library held this ancient tome! 

_ My dear Bartemius, _

_ This book has been in the family for years. I am positive it will prove a great asset in your studies. _

_ Your Aunt, _

_ Cassiopeia Black _

Putting book and card away quickly so he could choke up later in private, he opened Sirius' present next. It was a copy of the muggle book the man had been reading back when… well, earlier. '_1984_', it was called. With it came a bottle of Ogden's Finest Firewhiskey and a note. 

_ Dear Barty _

_ At first I thought Voldemort was Big Brother, but I've since realised he might be Goldstein after all. _

_ I, on the other hand, have been Winston all along but I'll never betray Julia– I've spent enough time in Room 101 to know I will never break. _

_ It will make sense once you read it. _

_ Your friend, _

_ Sirius _

Intrigued, Barty read the blurb on the back cover and raised his eyebrows at Sirius when he was finished. The man only gave him a bashful grin and shrugged his shoulders in a "what can you do?" kinda way. 

Interesting, that. The firewhiskey to wash the book down? 

Arcturus' gift to him was an envelope he opened carefully. Inside was a Gringotts key. 

"A tutor works for money, Bartemius," the old wizard told him and leaned forward in his armchair. "I've taken the liberty to provide for all the months you've been tutoring our young Harry on your own, of course. It also includes the traditional stipend of a Black scion. A lot has accumulated in the last 27 years of your life, so you're no longer as poor a pauper as you were."

"I won't insult you by saying I can't accept this," Barty gulped. "Just know that I appreciate the gesture with all the facets it entails." 

Harry had given him a broom of all things and was looking at him sideways with a hopeful expression. Unsurprisingly, there was lots of flying that day, until Sirius, Barty and Harry could hardly feel their hands, feet and noses anymore. 

-o-

It was already March before anything else of importance happened. At breakfast, a majestic owl swooped through the windows of the sunroom and landed next to Harry's plate. 

The boy waited obediently until Sirius and Barty had verified that it was no threat and just a Gringotts owl and only then took the envelope from her leg. 

Feeding the owl bacon with one hand, he smoothed out the parchment with the other and started reading. 

"Oh, I'll be getting some things back," Harry told them with a grin. "Apparently, this morning a deadline has run out and they have employed 'goblin means of repossession'. We can come collect these items whenever we want." 

"That's from when we went to Gringotts last November," Sirius told Barty. "Some Potter family heirlooms are still at large. Or, well, were. We unsealed the wills during our visit and the goblins started the legal proceedings of getting them back." 

"What kind of items? Do you know?" 

"There's the Potter pensieve, some books, furniture, all sorts of things, really. We've also taken back possession of the cottage at Godric's Hollow that the ministry has falsely claimed as a historical site. The goblins should be done putting up wards and glamours by now, judging by the arrival of the letter."

"But won't people be angry?" Harry looked troubled. "I read that they go there to celebrate the end of the war each year." 

"They can celebrate it without looking at the blown-out wreckage of your nursery, Harry," Sirius growled, pushing his plate away. "It's awful is what it is. They should be ashamed of themselves. Come on, we'll go to Gringotts today and get your stuff." 

"I have a request, Sirius," Barty said slowly and Sirius and Harry looked at him expectantly. "We'll be meeting the Notts later this week, and Harry needs the Potter heir ring to protect his mind. Cantankerus Nott is one of my master's oldest confidants– they actually went to Hogwarts together in the late thirties. He's as reliable and useful as they come but he's… he knows how to read people. Whip-smart, master legilimens and occlumens, practitioner of Dark Arts even the Black family wouldn't scoff at, you get the idea."

"We need to be careful with him," Harry concluded, young face serious. "But we'll need him, nonetheless." 

"He knew you, didn't he?" Barty looked over to Sirius, slightly surprised. 

"He was one of the few who knew of… my master's fondness of me, yes. I'm not sure whether I should be here for the meeting. After Azkaban and… what came after, my occlumency barriers aren't what they used to be. We'd need to, no, _ you'd _ need to vet him first. Find out what his stance is, where his allegiances lie nowadays."

"What about his son? Is he like Draco?" Harry looked wary. "Are all Pureblood children so snobbish?" 

"Not all, no," Barty told him. "Well, I mean, I can't be sure but Cantankerus was always a fair man. Hard, but fair, with no space in his life for affectation and pomp. I should hope that his son follows in his footsteps." 

"Me, too," Harry sighed, nibbling on a piece of toast. 

-o-

Being inside Gringotts with one's own key was an experience Barty hadn't yet made, in this life or the one before that. It felt strange to present the goblin teller with his key and be referred to as Alfred Black. He briefly wondered just how much money old Arcturus had needed to make this possible. 

He felt more than a little woozy when he was presented with a bank statement and saw the large number of galleons currently residing in his vault. He opted for a blood-coded pouch directly connected to his vault and joined Harry and Sirius just as they were led deeper into the bowels of Gringotts. 

He surreptitiously showed Harry the large figure on his statement and pointed to the name as they were walking and received a bright grin in return. 

"Moving in with great-uncle Arcturus' really was the right decision," Harry said. "And great-aunt Cassiopeia meeting you was a stroke of luck, too. Imagine, we're _ actually _ cousins of a sort!" 

"Shh, not here, Harry," Barty reminded him, just as they were led into an office. 

The goblin they'd met when they first went into Gringotts years ago was waiting for them and bade them sit. 

"You came quick, we appreciate that," he said to Harry and gestured toward his right. "Here you see heirlooms and family property faithfully returned by Gringotts. It was our _ pleasure._" 

"How do you get these items if the ones keeping them don't want to give them back?" Harry asked the goblin incredulously and wandered over to the large assortment of things. "The letter said something about 'goblin means of repossession'?" 

"Aah, yes. You do know about house elf magic and how they can Apparate where Apparition is not possible for wizards, for example, Mr. Potter?" Harry nodded. "We goblins have a different sort of magic from you wizards. There is no wizard protection as can keep us out." 

Barty shuddered a little at that but Harry merely nodded sagely and investigated his new treasure. 

"Let me get this straight," Sirius asked with false innocence. "You actually went into Hogwarts and repossessed these items _ from right under Dumbledore's nose_?" 

The goblin nodded with a feral glint in his eye and Barty snorted when Sirius did a little happy dance very unbecoming of the Heir to a Noble and Most Ancient House. 

"We shall pack these for you and deliver them to your home," the goblin continued genially. "If there's nothing else?" 

Sirius was starting to shake his head no, but Barty interrupted. 

"There is, actually. In light of young Mr. Potter's prominent position in the Wizarding World, we feel the need to present him with the Heir Ring before his eleventh birthday."

"As protection?" 

"As a precaution, mostly." 

The goblin didn't say anything but Barty didn't like the way the being's gaze lingered on his left forearm for just a second or two too long. Finally, he grabbed a piece of parchment, penned a quick note and dropped it in a mail chute. 

They spent the wait sorting through Harry's new things. The boy was drawn to a shimmering garment immediately, weighing the fabric in his hands. 

"Ah, your father's old invisibility cloak," Sirius nodded. "Been in the family for _ ages _ now, James said. We used to do a lot of mischief with this."

Sirius' expression was one of fond remembrance but the moment Barty had heard the word invisibility cloak he felt totally and utterly sick. Without a word, he staggered out of the room, head spinning, focus messy and his heart beating against his ribs as if it wanted to escape its cage. 

He felt a giggle bubble up and couldn't stop it in time. His hands grabbed hold of his hair and pulled and he thought there might be voices but what did it matter anyway. When a hand made a grab for him, he snarled and reached for his wand but before he could reach it, he suddenly couldn't move anymore. 

Next, something warm and pepperminty was forced down his throat and he coughed and spluttered until a serene sort of calm washed over him. 

"Calming Draught," he murmured. "Right. Sorry." 

The world swam back into focus and Sirius was there, kneeling in front of him. 

"What was that all about, Alfy? Was it the invisibility cloak?" 

"My… father," Barty whispered. "Kept me under one, remember? I was invisible for _ years_, Sirius." 

The look of pity on Sirius' face was almost too much but Barty let himself be dragged up and pulled into a hug.

"Come on, go home. The goblin agreed to let you use his fireplace. Just spend the rest of the day in bed and relax a little." Sirius steered him back to the office he'd run out from and he could see goblins all down the corridor returning to their own offices. Probably drawn out by the ruckus he caused. Damn it. 

"I probably will. It's a wednesday, so Aunt Cassie will be there for Harry, yeah? You going to St. Mungo's later?" 

"I'm not entirely convinced I should leave you alone but my mindhealer has been very adamant about me only missing appointments when it's a _ real _ emergency. Are you a real emergency?" 

"No, just your regular old trainwreck," Barty snorted." By then, they were back in the goblin's office and Harry looked at him with worry. "All good again, Harry. Not too fond of invisibility cloaks after, you know…" 

The boy's eyes widened in understanding and he nodded his head quickly. 

"No, I understand. Sorry, I didn't know what it was. You always did tell me to be careful with magical objects." 

"You'll get the hang of it," Barty shrugged. "You get your ring now, and listen well to our master goblin when he tells you how it works, alright? I'll see you this evening. Be good for Aunt Cassie, yes?" 

He quickly made his way home, closed the door to his room, vanished his clothes and crawled into his bed. For a brief moment, he considered closing the heavy curtains around his four poster bed but he couldn't imagine being trapped behind them now. 

-o-

His dreams were spent running after people he knew and shouting at them, waving his hands in front of their faces and trying to get them to _ notice _ him but none would. 

His movements were getting more frantic, the lengths he went to more desperate yet no one noticed a thing he did nor a sound he made. 

Thus, it came as a welcome disruption when a small hand began shaking him. 

"Master Alfy, _ Master Alfy_, you's needing to be waking up now!" 

"Gabby? What? What time is it?" 

He opened his eyes and the old house elf with ears so long they almost touched the ground was actually standing on his bed, holding on to his upper arm. 

"A strange man be's inside the house! He came through the green fire and he made young Tilly go to sleep and now he has Mistress Cassie and Master Harry and he says he will only leave if he be's speaking to Master Sirius!" 

Barty was instantly wide-awake. He jumped from the bed, pulled on a robe and grabbed his stolen wand. 

"Where are they?" 

He didn't even recognise his own voice. It hadn't been this dark and determined in years now. 

"The sitting room, Master Alfy, ooh, what is old Gabby to do?" 

"You can go outside the house, right? Go to St. Mungo's, find Sirius and tell him it's an honest to Merlin emergency here. I'll take care of our family." 

Gabby looked at him with wide eyes, seemingly bewildered by the change that had come over him but nodded then, determined, and vanished with a Crack. 

Barty took a deep breath, centered himself and cast an disillusionment charm on himself, not forgetting to follow it with a noise-cancelling charming this time. 

He crept through the mansion on silent feet and followed the sound of agitated voices coming from the sitting room. 

"You will unbind me this instant, young man," he heard Aunt Cassie command. "Or, I swear to all that is Dark and Unholy in this world, I will see to it that your life is forfeit!" 

"Be quiet, Miss Black, I want no quarrel with you," an unfamiliar voice said pleadingly. 

Barty edged around the archway leading to the sitting room and saw Harry and Aunt Cassie sitting in their chairs, rigid with what must be body-binding curses. The man pacing in front of their table wore shabby clothes and looked around nervously. 

A burglar? 

"There's really only old Arcturus around? Where is Sirius?" 

"He's getting treatment, we told you," Harry said. "Why don't you let us go and we wait for him together? You have great-aunt Cassiopeia's wand anyway, so there's nothing we can do." 

"Oh no, nonono, he's been avoiding me for _ months _ now," the man said agitatedly. "I need this chance to speak with him, though I am _ terribly _sorry we must meet again under such circumstances, Harry." 

"Meet again," the boy echoed. "You knew me before? When I was with my parents?" 

Before the man could answer that, Barty put his duelling practice to the test. He stepped out from behind the archway and fired a silently cast stunner at the intruder. 

To his surprise, the man erected a shield just in time. 

"I may not be able to see or hear you," he whispered, "but I can still _ smell _ you. _ Expelliarmus_!" 

Barty threw up a shield. This man wanted business, then. This was an attack in his own home. 

An attack on his family. 

Something clicked inside his head and for the first time in years, he let it. 

"_Depulso! Aguamenti! Avis oppugno_!" 

Once the man was properly terrorised by dozens of birds after having to shield against a stream of water, Barty silently creeped around him. 

"_Reducto_!" A chair next to the man splintered into pieces. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" 

The splinters obeyed his command, forming a dome around the man with the sharp edges pointing toward him and rushed inwards. The intruder threw up a domed shield in the last second and Barty used the opening when he lowered it to drop to the ground and fire a knee-reversing hex towards the intruder at foot level.

There was a sickening crack and the man stumbled to the ground immediately, hands instinctively grabbing for his legs. 

"_Depulso horribilis_!" 

The man was catapulted against the wall behind him by the sheer force of Barty's spell and sank to the ground in a heap. He was panting hard. 

Barty cancelled his disillusionment charm and freed aunt Cassie and Harry with a wordless _ finite_. 

"_Expelliarmus! Locomotor mortis_!" 

The man's wand flew in Barty's hand and the intruder grunted in pain when the leg-locker curse wreaked havoc on his destroyed knees. 

"Not so mouthy now, are you?" Barty felt revulsion crawl up his throat and reminded himself that Harry was there and that his charge didn't need to see the things Barty wanted to do to the man who dared attack what was his. "What's your name?" 

"Lupin, Remus Lupin," the intruder coughed out. "I'm an old… friend of Sirius' and he's been ignoring my letters so I–" 

"So you thought you'd break into his house and hold his family hostage," Aunt Cassie finished for him drily and he saw Lupin flinch. 

Yeees, of course. Remus Lupin, he was one of James Potter's little quartet together with Sirius and that coward Pettigrew, wasn't he? Alfred Hornby knew nothing about that, of course, so Barty showed no recognition. Merlin, but this Lupin fellow looked _ old _. Azkaban had done a right number on Sirius, but Lupin just looked… weary.

"Oh I remember," Aunt Cassie hissed in that moment, summoning her wand into her hand. "You're the _ werewolf_. You _ dare _ lay a hand on my precious darling Hadrian!? I'll end you for that!" 

Barty didn't really have it in him to stop her from casting whichever curse she deemed appropriate but it was this moment that had Sirius and Gabby appearing with a loud Crack. 

Sirius had his wand drawn and murder in his eyes. When he'd taken in the situation, though, he lowered his wand slowly and blinked twice. 

"_You're _ the intruder, Remus?" His voice was strangely flat, like Barty had never heard it before. "You dare barge in here, stun my house elf and _ threaten _ my family?" 

"I needed to talk to you!" 

"I sent you a letter telling you I want nothing to do with you!" 

"Sirius, I'm so sorry for not believing in your innocence but what was the alternative? Dumbledore said–" 

"**Fuck Dumbledore**," Sirius thundered and Barty had half a mind to hold his hands over Harry's ears. 

"You have everything here under control now, dears," Aunt Cassie tutted in that moment and tugged at Harry's hand. "Come on, love, we'll get you some tea and biscuits and summon our healer to take a look at you. Let's leave this _ animal _ with Sirius and Alfred." 

Lupin's head sagged downwards at that but still there was no pity. Only a slowly-festering rage because _how_ _dare he_. 

"Look, Sirius, I didn't want to make trouble but after your first answer last year telling me you don't want any contact whatsoever you returned all my letters unopened and I… I just needed to talk to you. There is so much I still need to say, so much to apologise for. Please hear me out, Sirius, for old time's sake. You… loved me once, didn't you?"

Lupin's tone was pleading and this time, it was Sirius who flinched. 

"Once, maybe. Not anymore," Sirius clarified, voice hard. "You left me to rot in Azkaban, without so much as a by your leave. There are ways to get messages in there, Remus, and I know for a fact that you didn't try. My solicitor checked whether anyone inquired after me at the ministry or at Azkaban itself. And _ don't _give me the 'Dumbledore said' excuse. What about Harry? Why did you never think to look for him?"

"I'm a werewolf," Lupin growled, getting agitated. "What chance would I have had, getting the Boy-Who-Lived placed in my care?" 

"Still! He was abused and starved and _ beaten _ and you could have put the fear of _ Merlin _ into these muggles' hearts so they'd be decent to him if only you'd _ cared enough to check_!" Barty watched Sirius practically shake with rage and gingerly stepped in. 

"This is getting out of hand, Sirius," he cautioned, gently pushing his friend's raised wand down. "I'll take care of him. Make sure he knows he isn't wanted here, alright? You go look if there's some tea left for you, get yourself calmed down, yeah?" 

"And what about you? After this morning…" Sirius shook his head. "No, you're right, you're an adult. Thanks for handling this, I really should get calmed down…" 

Sirius made for the archway and stopped under it, looking back at Remus. 

"Don't contact me again, Remus. You're dead to me." 

After Sirius was gone, Lupin actually started sobbing. Great, big, ugly sobs. Barty sneered in distaste.

"Well come on, then," he growled, pointing his wand at the man. "_Mobilicorpus_." 

Lupin started floating and Barty maneuvered him out onto the grounds. 

"Where are you taking me? Can't you just send me to the DMLE? They'll at least fix my knees while I wait for my trial for breaking into the house of a member of the Wizengamot." 

Lupin's voice was sore from crying and it took him some time to get the bitter words out. 

"You're not getting a trial," Barty told him and continued his trek towards the woods he knew so well by now. 

"Wait, what?" Lupin was beginning to get agitated now and what little of his body he could move started shaking. "Who are you? Where are you taking me?" 

Barty merely silenced him and continued walking until he reached the large stretch of woods. He welcomed the still air between the trees and exhaled with a smile when he reached his favourite clearing. 

"Tell me, wolf, have you ever seen a man die?" 

He cancelled the silencing and the levitation and Lupin dropped to the ground with a grunt. 

"What kind of question is that? I lived through the Wizarding War, of course I've seen people die!" 

"Good." 

Barty put two fingers in his mouth and _ whistled_. 

Lupin had started trembling in earnest now, eyes darting from left to right. Soon enough the brush started rustling and parted to reveal two of his best friends in the world. 

"Hello my beauties," Barty cooed, gently stroking the thestrals. "Look what Uncle Barty brought you." 

"Barty?" Lupin's voice was a whimper now. "Barty Crouch?" 

Barty took off his talisman and grinned at the man he went to school with a lifetime ago. 

"Hello, Remus. Fancy meeting you here." 

"But you're… you're _ dead_!" 

"Yes, yes. Officially I am, of course. Unofficially? Not so much." 

He winked at Remus and savoured the way the man tried inching backwards on his elbows, his grotesquely bent legs trailing behind as the thestrals started sniffing him curiously. 

"You attacked my family, Remus Lupin and _ I care not for your motives_." 

"You're a death eater, a monster! You're poisoning Harry and Sirius, that's why he never, he never–" Here, Lupin started crying again a little and Barty rolled his eyes.

"This was already old the first time around, wolfy," he sing-songed. "Enough now. You don't get to harm a hair on Harry's head. You don't even get to _ look _ at him! _ Avada Kedavra_!" 

Lupin fell back with a surprised expression and Barty wondered if maybe he should have used something more painful? Considering that idea, he vanished the man's clothing and watched detachedly for a moment as the thestrals started devouring his body. Then he shrugged and started walking back towards the manor. No use crying over spilt intestines, was there? 

When he arrived home, he searched out the others and found them huddled around the small kitchen table. 

"Is he gone?" 

Barty nodded at Harry and sat down next to him. 

"And he won't be coming back," he promised. "I stressed to him that your uncle Sirius really doesn't want any contact anymore so he said something about there being nothing for him in England and that he wanted to go looking for work on the continent." 

"That's good," Harry said. "He could have really hurt me if he wanted. That was scary. Is Tilly alright?" 

"She is," Sirius comforted him. "She was just stunned. Apparently, Remus told her that I had a medical emergency in St. Mungo's which is why she opened the connection in the first place. Can't fault the poor thing for caring, can I? I took the house elves rights to open the Floo for travel as a precaution, though."

-o-

Later that evening, Barty sat with Harry in the library, conjuring birds for him to look at because of all the things the boy saw today, this seemed to have stuck the most. 

"You handled that man really well," Harry complimented, stroking a bird that looked like a robin. "He didn't have the slightest chance against you!" 

"I wasn't my Lord's pupil for being booksmart alone, was I? And Lupin doesn't count, not really. He was always more of a scholar."

Barty inwardly preened at the compliment, of course. He stopped, though, when Harry turned to him with a serious expression. 

"I know you really well, Barty," he said with no hint of emotion. "Sirius said you didn't use the Floo and that man couldn't walk with those legs. You're rubbish at healing spells. Where is he?" 

"Could never keep anything from you, could I? You're too smart for that, just like him. No keeping secrets from Harry Potter." Barty was grinning again now, the intensity of it stretching his mouth wide. "Why, he's with the thestrals now. At least the parts of him they liked. Did you know thestrals also eat bones?" 

"Yeah, you told me," Harry said, thinking. "Seeing him made Sirius really sad. I'm glad he won't be this sad again. Do you know why he wanted to talk to him so badly?" 

"I'm not entirely sure on the details but they were friends. Maybe even more than friends." 

"More than friends? Best friends?" 

"No, more like… lovers?" 

"What, like boyfriends, but with each other? Uncle Vernon said that boys who like boys are against the Bible and that they will all go to hell." 

"Muggles think that, maybe, but it's not like that in our world. It's not openly talked about as much but boys with boys or girls with girls is mostly fine as long as, somehow, an heir is produced. Be it through blood adoption, two same-sex couples working together or whatever else you can think of."

"I see," Harry said easily. "And do you like boys or girls?" 

"Oh, well. I mostly like boys, but girls can sometimes be awfully pretty." 

"Really? I don't know many girls," Harry shrugged. 

"We'll meet the Greengrasses next month, they have two girls your age. Aunt Cassie says they're very nice and well-behaved– perfect for getting to know girls as a concept." 

"I suppose," Harry said, smiling a little. "Can I sleep in your room tonight and you conjure me a little bed like back in the flat sometimes? I don't think I want to sleep alone in my room tonight." 

"Sure! Go get Sirius, I'll make a bed for him, too. I doubt it would be good for him to be alone right now." 

And so, Barty fell asleep listening to the sweet sounds of Harry and Sirius (in dog form, lying at Harry's feet) breathing slowly and steadily. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm. Sorry?
> 
> Barty is not a good person and he really doesn't like people messing with what is his :/


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's have a bit of fluff this chapter before we delve deep into the plot and get to know some co-conspirators next chapter <3

The day after he'd killed Lupin, Barty made his way towards Sirius' little personal study with the bottle of firewhiskey in his hands. For once, he wasn't wearing the talisman he'd become so accustomed to. It was already dark outside and Sirius was sitting at his desk, illuminated only by the fire burning in the fireplace and a little desk lamp. 

"Read your book," Barty drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "I think I get it. You thought you were doing the right thing, fighting against evil and everything but then you realised you weren't working for the ministry for magic– you were working for the ministry of truth."

"It hurt to realise," Sirius replied after a moment's hesitation, running his fingers through his long black hair. "It's still hard. And while I don't know what will happen once we get him back, well, it certainly can't be worse than the ministry is now, can it? Even if it is, I'm on the winning side, and everyone I care about is, too." 

Barty sauntered over to him, planning to sit in front of the desk, but Sirius got up and maneuvered them both over to the low settee with the glass table in front. He watched Sirius fold up his impossibly long legs as he leaned back and sat down next to the man with a smile. The settee faced the gently crackling fireplace and the warmth was nice on Barty's face.

The first glass of firewhiskey stung, as did the second, but by the third a nice tingly feeling in his legs had Barty relax and smile a little. He leaned back as well with his head resting lightly against Sirius' upper arm where the man had lazily draped it over the backrest. 

"It's nice, this. Being happy, I mean," Barty clarified. "Didn't have much of that, us two, did we?" 

"Nah," Sirius agreed, head thrown back and eyes closed. "Right number life pulled on us, yeah? And then Remus yesterday, bah." 

Barty watched the fire throw shadows on Sirius' aristocratic face only to take them away again the next moment. He hesitated for a second before throwing caution to the wind and plunging right in. 

"So you and him..?" 

"Yeah, yeah. Us. We. A thing. Never at school but after. There was a thing between us before Remus left for the mainland to negotiate with the packs on Dumbledore's orders and, well. We never broke up, officially." 

"That's rough man, that's bloody rough is what it is," Barty heard his voice say and wondered distantly about how much being drunk felt like being under the Imperious. He shuddered. 

"Cassiopeia said she went to look what the ruckus was when Tilly was stunned yesterday and then there was this wizard just standing there, you know?" Sirius swallowed some more firewhiskey and pushed on. "She didn't know Remus of course so she went for her wand but by then he'd already immobilised her. She's really bitter about that. Wants to join us for duelling practice on the weekends, actually." 

"Might as well," Barty shrugged. "But why'd he immobilise Harry?" 

"Ha, you'll love this! At first he didn't; Cassiopeia told me Remus was almost crying when he saw Harry coming to look for her but once Harry saw his Aunt Cassie struggling he sprinted up to Remus and started kicking and punching him. Like, really just going for it, not listening to a thing the old wolf said. We gotta get him a staff when he's older. Shame he's not going to Durmstrang, I think they still offer classes in old-fashioned battle magic!"

"What a stupid way to force a confrontation with you," Barty growled and shook his head. 

"Remus? Yeah. Shame he never cared a lick about me while I actually needed him," Sirius shrugged. "Always a good head on his shoulders but way too timid. Also way too under Dumbledore's thumb. He was always so grateful the old man allowed him to attend Hogwarts. You know… I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to have set Remus up for this. I've narrowly avoided the headmaster in St. Mungo's a couple times now, and he keeps sending me letters."

"He what? What?" Barty felt a lot more sober now. "What kind of letters? What?"

"Ah, I didn't want to worry you. It's just the same old as the first ones I told you about. Dear boy, I need to speak to Harry some time, such a darling boy no doubt, James and Lily would have wanted it, need to apologise to you too, yada yada yada." Sirius scratched his stubbly chin in thought. "Though I guess that his tone would go back to scathing again after our little bout of goblin repossession." 

"That was really fun, though," Barty reminded him and drank another glass of firewhiskey. 

Sirius chuckled. "I would have paid good money to see that, actually." 

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, both pleasantly glowing from the alcohol running through their systems. 

Then, Sirius cleared his throat a little and started playing with the empty glass in his free hand. He wouldn't meet Barty's eyes and needed two attempts to ask his question. 

"And… you and Regulus..?" 

Barty flinched. 

"I'm, I mean, we. No. No." He took a deep breath. "There was never, we were never like, physical? Couple close calls while working together, maybe, but, well. And then he disappeared one day and I still don't know where he– yeah, no, never a proper thing." 

Sirius nodded slowly, setting his glass down with a grim expression on his face. 

"Did he ever talk about me? Regulus?" 

"Not… really, no," Barty shrugged. "Didn't talk much about our families at all, him and me. At school it was school and Quidditch and homework and with our Lord it was mostly tactical stuff. Researching stuff. He was very bright, Regulus. Very bright." 

"That he was, yeah," Sirius sighed. "Wonder what happened to him." 

"As do I," Barty admitted, setting his glass down, too. "Maybe he's living a nice new life in Australia, or New Zealand even, well away from dark lords and Pureblood politicking. Supposed to be awfully pretty, New Zealand." 

"Yeah, maybe he's in New Zealand," Sirius grinned sadly. "Guess we'll never know. I'm just… I'm just glad _ you're _here, Barty. I was really sad after you'd died. Or, well, you know what I mean." 

"I do, yeah. Might have been better to have stayed in Azkaban after all, now that I think about it. Better company, anyway." 

"Ha, right back atcha. Know what we called that father of yours after his back during the war?" 

"Oh, do tell!" 

"Crouch the Grouch." 

"No way! Really?" 

"Ye-up. And he never knew. Bastard." 

They laughed at that and spent some more time looking into the flames together, each lost to their own thoughts. They'd been sitting close together anyway, but Barty ended up leaning a little against Sirius and if his drunk brain didn't imagine it, the arm he was leaning against curled up a little around him.

For at least a little while, they enjoyed just basking in the warmth of another human being. 

-o-

"I like Theo!" 

"Oh, that's good to hear." 

"No, I _ really _like Theo! I was even proper sad when they left! You were right, not all the Pureblood children are like Draco." 

Barty couldn't help but grin back at Harry's big smile. It was only a couple minutes after Nott Snr. and Jr. had left and Harry had stormed into the library to gush at him immediately. 

"He'll come here next week, he promised. He's gonna show me some games and I'll show him the library! He doesn't care much for Quidditch but it's alright. He's a bookworm, like you!" 

With a sad sort of feeling coiling in his gut Barty realised that Harry had never truly had friends his own age. Definitely not at the Dursleys and just as definitely not while they were hiding. He liked to think of himself as a friend as much as a mentor to the boy but he knew that nothing could replace people one's own age. 

"It's good that you like him," Barty reiterated with a little smile. "I'll gladly show him around. What did you think of old man Nott?" 

"He was scary," Harry replied with not a care in the world. "I'd really like to have him on our side. He was very interested in what magical ability I've shown but I haven't told him about the Parseltongue. I want you there when I do. But he asked questions in a way that made you want to tell him more than you planned to, you know? I think he's very smart."

"That he is," Barty agreed. "Did Sirius find a way to bring up, well, allegiances and the like?" 

"Sirius told him he wants to lead the Black family back to its former position of power, and with the same allies as before." Here the boy scratched his chin in thought– a habit picked up from his godfather Barty noted with a small smirk. "Mr. Nott was _ very _ interested in Sirius all of a sudden whereas before he was mostly fixated on me. I'm really glad I had the Potter Heir ring to protect my mind; his gaze was _ intense_." 

"He does that," Barty laughed. "Arcturus told me last week that he's finally found a solution to my open mind problem. He hopes to have whatever it is here next week so maybe I'll be able to meet old Nott with you next time." 

"They want to get to know you too," Harry told him. "Mr. Nott wants Theo to have some lessons together with me now he knows Sirius follows properly in his family's footsteps. Apparently, he was quite surprised to be invited here even though he'd heard the Malfoys had been here. He thought it was a family thing because of Narcissa. Theo and Draco know each other, too but Theo says he's not a fan either."

"Young Theo is welcome to my lessons any time if you enjoy his company that much," Barty promised. "Speaking of which– today we're going over your multiplication tables again. I don't care if it's not strictly needed in Hogwarts but I won't stand for a mathematically inept wizard under my tutelage!" 

-o-

After meeting the Greengrasses - a powerful politically Neutral family - the following week, Harry had extended an invitation to his lessons to their elder daughter Daphne who would also be in his year in Hogwarts. She'd asked to bring her best friend Tracey and suddenly there were four eager faces staring up Barty from the hastily conjured up chairs and desks. 

"Welcome children," Barty greeted them. "I was planning on going over some more Etiquette with Harry today but judging by your exemplary posture we should probably go for something different. Have any of you ever brewed a potion?" 

"Father says it's too dangerous," Daphne said after raising her hand politely. 

"Mother says we'll learn at Hogwarts," Tracey shrugged. 

"My father says learning potions at Hogwarts is mostly autodidactic," Theo shared. "Professor Snape has his students follow the instructions on the board with no real explanations so I've been studying effects and countereffects of the most common Potions ingredients." 

"Oh, I did the theory too," Daphne smiled. 

"Yeah, same here," said Tracey. 

"Very good," Barty nodded. "I've already taught Harry some of the theory as well. He's been asking me to brew a potion with him for quite a while now, so why not today? We'll work on one cauldron together in the beginning to minimise danger. This way, your parents won't have my head for putting you in harm's way."

The children nodded eagerly and he led them to Black manor's Potions lab where he'd already prepared a cauldron and some ingredients. 

"Alright– Potions. Potioneering is much like cooking but I suggest you don't mention this to one Professor Severus Snape when you're attending Hogwarts. Basically, all you have to do is follow a recipe. For today, we're brewing a simple Calming Draught. If we're successful, you may each bring home a flask to add to your house apothecary."

That had the children's attention. Like most young wizards and witches, they longed to finally take part in the actual magic-working happening all around them. 

He had each of them get a cutting board and a knife together with a sample of every ingredient needed. 

"I'll have all of you prepare the ingredients alongside me so you know what they're supposed to look like and what technique to use," he explained. "If any of you manage to cut, dice or crush them as well as or even better than me we'll use yours, otherwise we'll just use mine until you're more experienced with a knife." 

The next hour was spent correcting grips on knife handles, demonstrating cutting techniques and watching out that nobody was so eager they'd slice their own finger off. Thankfully, Theo was a very calm boy who patiently waited for instructions and the girls, while decidedly giggly, behaved themselves well enough. And Harry, well, he knew better than to not do exactly as he was told. 

Barty was proud to be able to use Harry's crushed lavender, some of the pieces of crocodile heart Theo had prepared and even some of the peppermint the girls had cut up. Soon, each of the children was holding a little vial of state of the art Calming Draught and they all looked immensely pleased with themselves. 

After lunch the girls Floo'd home and wished them well until next week while Theo was set to stay until after dinner. 

Barty mouthed "Next week?" to Harry with a raised eyebrow and the boy had the decency to blush, grab Theo and practically flee the room. 

So he'd been voluntold to be a tutor for them all at least once a week, had he? He shrugged after considering that for a moment and vowed to use this opportunity to build up the woefully under-equipped in-house apothecary. 

-o-

International portkeys were the worst. Barty looked down at the old tire iron he held onto together with four other already queasy-looking witches and wizards and closed his eyes when someone from the South African International Travelling Bureau started counting down from five. 

The ride home was exactly as uncomfortable and disconcerting as the journey there had been and all of them stumbled upon arrival and some even fell down completely. Barty felt himself heave a little, forced his back straight and drew in deep, calming breaths. 

There was a steadying hand on his upper arm immediately and when he opened his eyes he looked up at Sirius' form towering over him and forced a wobbly smile on his face. Harry was standing next to his godfather and held up a little sign saying "Welcome home!" with wet eyes. 

Barty sank to his knees and caught Harry when the boy practically jumped into his arms. 

"It was only three days, Harry," he laughed but buried his nose in the boy's hair nonetheless. 

"I've never not seen you that long," Harry croaked out. "How am I supposed to enjoy my time at Hogwarts when I miss you guys after a couple of days?" 

"You'll have enough fun and work in equal measure to think much about your silly old family," Sirius winked at the boy when he stepped back to let Barty get up. 

"And we'll have your breaks," Barty reminded him. "But I'd really like to go home now. Can you Side-Along Apparate me too, Sirius? I'm afraid I don't quite know where I end and begin." 

"I'll get Harry home first and then I'll come get you. I don't want to splinch either of you." 

Barty sank down on one of the benches lining the little International Portkey Bureau and waited for Sirius to return. There was a call of "India incoming!" and about ten people appeared, each holding onto a woven basket. There were two little girls among them, twins, who'd fallen down. Their parents helped them up and Apparated away with them without hesitation. Wouldn't do to calm them down only to aggravate their stomachs again with Side-Along Apparition. 

Thus, Barty was glad when Sirius returned, silently grabbed his arm and whisked them away to Black Manor. 

Harry had already prepared an armchair and a cup of tea for him and Barty sank down gratefully. 

"How'd it go?" Sirius sounded as eager as Harry looked and Barty allowed himself a slow grin. 

He let his new wand spring from its holster. 

"My new wand, made by the most famous of South African wandmakers: Bongani Tsotetsi. Marula tree wood with a Nundu spike core. Most people don't use wands on the African continent but rather hand gestures, so… Tsotetsi is actually the only wandmaker in South Africa."

Harry was studying the light brown wood that looked so foreign to European eyes intently. 

"It's very pretty," was the boy's judgment. "I can't wait to get my own wand!" 

"_And _ now we can finally go to the ministry without me being detained immediately. I also managed to find the right people to bribe and will have the name "Alfred Bo Hornby" officially added to the list of alumni of Uagadou School of Magic. I did a tour there so I'll be able to answer the most basic questions should they be asked."

"You've been really busy!" Harry was still eyeing his wand as if he'd never seen one before. "I wish it was next year already…" 

"We should go next week," Sirius proposed enthusiastically. "To the ministry I mean. It's Friday now… so maybe Tuesday? We can finally get the Proxy for the Potter Seat on the Wizengamot established! Have you thought about who to give your Proxy seat to, Harry? Me or Alfy?" 

"Neither," Harry grinned deviously, looking away from the wand. "You have your hands full with the Black seat and obligations ever since Arcturus named you as his Proxy, Sirius, and Alfy is busy doing research and crafting a dangerous ritual in his spare time. I will have great-aunt Cassiopeia as my Proxy. She's been complaining about getting bored anyway. That way, she'll have something to do and she can teach me politics hands-on!"

"A traditional Black on the Potter seat," Sirius laughed. "The Light is going to be shitting _ bricks_, I'm telling you! Right, we'll go on Tuesday. I'll send an owl to tell the respective offices to expect us and to have the papers ready." 

"I'll call auntie," Harry volunteered and sprinted away towards the sitting room with the Floo. 

Barty, for his part, just enjoyed the silence that followed their departure and closed his eyes against the steady throbbing in his head. South Africa… Why couldn't he have said he was someone from France or Germany or any other country he could have just taken a ferry to?

-o-

It was Monday, the 23rd of April to be exact– the day before they were to set out to the ministry. His little group of pupils numbered ten by now and Barty didn't have it in him to fight them off anymore. 

Other than the original four, Draco had wormed his way in through the Parkinsons who Sirius had met with at the beginning of the month. Draco and their daughter, Pansy, were great friends and since they were brewing potions regularly now, she'd asked whether he might be her partner after she'd been invited. 

Harry had begrudgingly told her yes so the blond boy was there on probation. So far, he'd been a model student and guest– Barty suspected his mother's influence at work. 

Then, there was Stephen Cornfoot whose grandfather, an influential Lord from Cornwall, was allied with Lord Greengrass. Those two were the most powerful Houses in the Neutral faction of the Wizengamot and Sirius had been very particular about building good relations with them. 

He partnered with a girl called Padma Patil who Barty identified as one of the twins he saw at the International Travel Bureau. Talk about coincidences! When asked about her twin, the slight girl rolled her eyes and mumbled something about the brains of the family having been allocated unevenly. While the Patils weren't in the Wizengamot, they came from a long lineage of Dark Indian wizards and were filthy rich. Also, rumour had it that they were set to be appointed to the Wizengamot once a seat was opening up– so they were looking to build alliances, too. 

The last two were a girl called Sue Li whose family imported about 55% of foreign potions ingredients and magical fabrics from all over the world and another, brutish-looking girl called Millicent Bulstrode who hunched in on herself so much Barty was afraid her collarbones might snap. 

All in all, the children were nice enough and he knew he had to play his part in strengthening allegiances as well. He'd even been sent little gifts and trinkets by the children's parents for always sending their little darlings home with flasks of useful potions and for enabling them to socialise with a group of little witches and wizards their own age.

Except for Harry who was a halfblood, they were all Purebloods from exceptionally old families and you could see it in the way they held themselves. Barty was glad to see that Harry didn't stick out– well, he did, but not in a bad way. The other children seemed to gravitate around him, trying to gain his favour and he basked in their attention as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Gone was the cowering little boy with chipped, rotten teeth who wore rags and broken glasses. In his place, a phoenix had risen from the ashes. A confident little gentleman who knew how to hold a conversation and be the center of attention without it being overbearing. 

Barty felt his heart swell at the sight of the children congregating around his charge, each holding tight to their vials of pepper-up potions. 

His young Lord, following in the footsteps of the man Barty would have gladly given his life for without a second's hesitation.

"Of course you'll all be invited to my birthday party, but it's still some time," he heard Harry saying with a flushed smile. "You and your parents, I should think. We'll have a big party in the gardens!" 

"Even Parvati would come here when she hears there's a party," Padma laughed. 

"Will you visit the Wizengamot with your godfather some time, Harry? I sometimes go there with father," Draco told them eagerly. "He wants me to get used to the proceedings since we won't be able to go properly for _ years _ with Hogwarts being a boarding school and all." 

"I probably will, yeah. We could all meet in the stands together when it's an open session?" 

This was met with approval all around. Draco told them the next session was going to be on the 10th of May and they all vowed to ask their parents if they could go until next Monday.

Barty sighed because he saw a chaperone gig in his future. 

After the children had all left towards home, Harry beamed up at Barty. 

"I never knew spending time with other children could be so much fun," he said with a smile. "Thanks again for allowing all of them to come." 

"As if I had a choice," Barty scoffed but there was no heat behind his words. "I'm just happy you'll have some friends already at Hogwarts who'll look out for you. Stephen Cornfoot's older brother Robert is a Prefect in Ravenclaw, so there's someone older in your corner already, too. Those Cornish lads are stupidly loyal and every magical family from Cornwall does whatever old Lord Hamish Cornfoot tells them to do. And also, Tracey Davies' brother was sorted into Ravenclaw last year."

"I'm looking forward to getting to know their parents and grandparents in May. We can go right?" 

"I'm going to need some more adults to watch you and your friends but we'll manage, sure. Might do you some good and it will send a powerful signal to the rest of the Wizengamot. The heirs and scions of powerful Dark and Neutral Houses rallying around the Boy-Who-Lived? That's a _ statement_, Harry."

"And you're absolutely sure none of the Light families might consider joining us?" 

"I'm afraid not, no. They're either too deep in Dumbledore's pocket or too set in their ways. Maybe the MacMillans? It's a very weak maybe, though." Barty considered the political landscape some more. "The Longbottoms will never not do as Dumbledore says as long as Augusta Longbottom is the Dowager Lady. Ogden and Marchbanks are firmly Light, as are Smith and Bones and Abbott. Then there's– no, enough about politics for one day, we've been indoors all day! Grab your broom, grab your godfather and meet me on the Quidditch pitch in ten minutes."

With Harry running off gleefully, Barty considered who to Owl for support during the Wizengamot session in May and thoughtfully made his way to get his own broom. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shipshipship *confused bird noises*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's International Talk Like a Pirate day, it's Hermione's birthday and, most important of all, it's MY birthday!
> 
> To celebrate in true Hobbit fashion, I bring you the next chapter early and what a big one it is!! I even had to cut it earlier than planned because it got so long <3

When Sirius, Barty and Harry Floo'd into the ministry's foyer the next week, the big atrium was teeming with people going about their business. As they went to register their wands Barty thanked Merlin under his breath when the procedure went off without a hitch. 

Officially, Barty didn't know the layout of the ministry but unofficially Sirius was but a half step behind him while Barty led the way. He waited just outside the little office dealing with Wizengamot bureaucracy down in the DMLE where Harry and Sirius started the proceedings to make Aunt Cassie Harry's Proxy. He even dared engage in one of his favourite little pastimes while out and about: people-watching. 

He saw quite some people he knew from the few times his father had brought him along to the ministry or from various functions. He noted with glee that he'd actually fought some of the aurors walking past him in the war and with even more mirth that some others had fought alongside him. Even a couple old classmates from Hogwarts walked by! Barty snorted inwardly and thought of ways to punish the traitors among them while Alfred Hornby politely observed the grand corridor. 

A sparkling from the corner of his eyes had Barty turn around with a dark sense of foreboding brewing in his gut. Not allowing the surprise to show on his face, he shifted his posture a little to be able to draw his wand instantly should the need arise. 

An ancient wizard wearing garish butter yellow robes with embroidered golden flowers stopped in front of the office Sirius and Harry were currently conducting their business in and Barty cursed up a storm inwardly. Someone had _ fucking blapped _ and the need to know who thrummed in his veins. 

"Hello, young sir," the old man greeted him. "Are you waiting in line?" 

"Yes," Barty answered simply. "Do you have business here too, Mister..?" 

"Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore. It's my pleasure." 

"My pleasure, I have heard of you of course," Barty replied genially and forced himself to shake the proffered hand.

"Oh? And who might you be? You're the right age to have gone to Hogwarts during my tenure as headmaster, yet I can't recall ever seeing your face." 

Dumbledore's own face was a mask of bland curiosity and Barty sent a silent thanks to Arcturus for the ring the man had provided him with last week, shortly before he'd left for South Africa. It was imbued with the same protections as the Heir and Lord rings of the Noble Houses and it was _ currently saving their collective terrorist arses. _

"My name is Alfred Hornby, Mr. Dumbledore," he answered with the world's fakest smile. 

"Ah yes, young Mr. Potter's tutor? I remember reading your name in the papers, young man," Dumbledore replied with a grandfatherly sort of smile. "Admirable job you're doing, making sure the Boy-Who-Lived grows up informed and prepared. I do wonder– could it be that your charge is currently in that office? I have wished to speak to him for quite some time now. I feel there is much to discuss between him and I, so many misconceptions to be cleared up."

The need to hurt and tear and kill bubbled under his skin but Barty kept his cool. For Harry. For Sirius. For Voldemort. 

"He is, actually," Barty replied easily and hated the way Dumbledore's eyes lit up. "I'm afraid we have a busy day ahead of us though. Many Boy-Who-Lived things to be doing, you know the drill."

Just then, the bloody door opened and he heard Harry and Sirius laughing as they said goodbye to the witch in charge of the office. 

Sirius halted in his tracks when he saw who Barty was talking to. He pushed Harry behind him and turned to step up next to Barty. 

"Sirius, my boy," Dumbledore greeted him jovially. "We meet again at last! You look so much better than you did during your trial." 

"Dumbledore," Sirius merely growled. "What a _ coincidence _to meet you here. Shame we have too much on our plate today to stay and chit-chat. Come along Harry, Alfy." 

Sirius started walking away immediately, shooing Harry in front of him. Barty took care to position himself directly behind Harry but the old wizard didn't let them off that easy. He followed them and started to say something when, all of a sudden, there was a man blocking their path. 

Barty recognised him immediately and allowed himself a breath of relief. 

"Heir Black, Heir Potter," Cantankerus Nott greeted them with a nod. "Mr. Hornby, pleasure to meet you at last. Theo has been going _ on and on _ about your lessons."

Lord Nott was not a tall man in the same way that Theo was a slight, waifish sort of boy. But where it made Theo look a little skittish and timid, Lord Nott held himself with impeccable ease and confidence. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back as was the fashion for wealthy Purebloods and his steel blue eyes looked out from his aged face just as sharp as Barty remembered them. 

"Your son is a delight to teach and, thanks to Harry's fondness of him, the reason our little group got started in the first place," Barty answered and bowed a little. 

"Certainly," Lord Nott smiled politely and shifted his gaze over to Dumbledore. "And our dear Chief Warlock, of course, good to meet you. I'm afraid Heir Black and Heir Potter are late for their meeting with me. I'm sure you'll find a mutually beneficial date for your business with them in the future. Ah, but there's Lord Greengrass– if I remember correctly, he's been meaning to speak with you for ages!"

Drawn in by the ruckus, Lord Gawain Greengrass joined them from somewhere. 

"Lord Nott, Heir Black, Heir Potter, what a pleasure," he greeted them all. "Chief Warlock Dumbledore, there's so much I need to discuss with you before our next Wizengamot session. I'm so glad to _ finally _ find you in the ministry. You spend so much time working at Hogwarts we are always overjoyed to have you with us for a change. Why don't we go to the antechamber down by the courtrooms? We're having a little preliminary meeting among some Neutral Houses and it would be most beneficial to have your guidance on one or two matters."

Barty quickly ushered Sirius and Harry after the departing Lord Nott while Lord Greengrass was talking. 

"Did you plan this?" Barty looked up in surprise when Sirius asked him and shook his head no. 

"I'm afraid my son is responsible," Lord Nott interrupted them. "Heir Potter told him you were to be in the ministry today and it's an open secret that Dumbledore has been hounding you for ages, Heir Black. I took the liberty to contact Lord Greengrass who does, in fact, have important business with Dumbledore. A shame that our Chief Warlock is stretched so thin that he neglects his duties with the Wizengamot."

They followed Lord Nott to the fireplaces and joined him in Nott Manor upon his insistence. Barty was pretty sure the man had planned the day down to the minute because, when they arrived, lunch was just being served and Theo was waiting for them. 

After they had all sat down, Harry cleared his throat and addressed Lord Nott. 

"I wish to extend our thanks, Lord Nott. You've spared us from facing Mr. Dumbledore before we were prepared to do so. It's also most fortunate we meet again so soon because I have a proposal to make." 

"Oh?" Lord Nott's eyes were gleaming with interest and he set his spoon down before he was done with his soup. "Do tell." 

"Me and the other children have been talking," Harry shared. "We want to visit the Wizengamot session this May and - sorry Alfy - while our tutor was out for a while we talked politics. Daphne actually told us that her father has been trying to contact the Chief Warlock for a meeting and that he's mostly preoccupied with the school. We agreed that a new Chief Warlock is in order and since no Proxy can call for a vote, I wanted to ask you to do the honour of nominating Lord Greengrass."

Barty and Sirius gaped at Harry and then at each other. While Barty slowly started smirking, Sirius continued to look flabbergasted. 

"I'm intrigued, my young friend," Lord Nott answered slowly, grin almost predatory. "And if I agree?" 

"If you agree, I will share it with the other children next Monday and Stephen Cornfoot will ask his grandfather to consider Seconding your call." 

Lord Nott leaned back in his chair and looked at Harry with a shrewd expression. He spared a glance to his son who blushed bright crimson because he'd obviously kept this a secret from his father. 

"I see," the aged wizard finally said before his face broke into a devious grin. "I'm on board, Heir Potter. I will rally the Dark Houses for this. Lord Greengrass is truly Neutral, so we might even have some of the Light Houses vote for him. A good opportunity to have a more hands-on Chief Warlock, to be sure. Tell me, Heir Potter– why have me call the vote instead of Lord Malfoy or Lord Parkinson?"

"I like you better," Harry shrugged and spooned some more soup into his mouth. "And if I like you better, chances are the other Lords and Ladies like you better, too." 

Lord Nott actually snorted at that. 

"Noted." With that, his attention zeroed in on Barty. "I meant what I said in the ministry, Mr. Hornby. It's good to have you teaching the children as a group and to have them all get along. Maybe you would consider teaching at Hogwarts once they are enrolled? It would be a step up from the usual standards of teaching."

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline," Barty replied, still somewhat amazed by Harry's ambitious ploy to oust Dumbledore from the Wizengamot. "The workload of a Hogwarts teacher is simply too grand and I have some… personal endeavours to devote copious amounts of time to." 

"It _ has _ been calling to me, you know?" Lord Nott answered in what amounted to quite the non sequitur. He raised his left forearm, pushed up his sleeve and revealed the skull and snake symbolising their never-ending servitude. "Since we've met at the ministry, my forearm has been stinging up a storm. It's been noticeable when I met Heir Potter for the first time but ever since you were in my vicinity, it's stepped up even more. Who have I invited into my home, _ Mr. Hornby_?" 

Barty exchanged a glance with both Sirius and Harry and they nodded as one. He sighed. 

"We know each other, Lord Nott," he told the man and slowly rolled up his left sleeve as well. "But before you ask– _ I'm not Regulus_." 

"No, you're not," Lord Nott agreed, his eyes boring into Barty's. "But you're supposed to be dead as much as him. I know the feel of your magic as I knew our Lord's, Bartemius, and this is the final comfirmation. Reveal yourself."

Barty took off his talisman and watched Theo's eyes widen in surprise in his periphery. Lord Nott, on the other hand, merely smiled like the cat that got the cream. 

"I knew it. You aged well, young Bartemius, but you'll have to share how you've escaped Azkaban." 

Barty held back a shudder and quickly relayed his story of switching with his mother, being held a prisoner by his father and finally killing him when the opportunity presented itself. Next was his fruitless search for their master and his retrieval of Harry from the Muggles, followed by his decision to raise the boy instead. 

After listening to the summary of Barty's life ever since the end of the war, Lord Nott was silent for a long moment. 

"I must admit, Bartemius," the aged man started and looked intently into Barty's eyes, "I've been thinking of you from time to time. When news of your death reached those of us on the outside– well. Old Abraxas Malfoy and I shared a drink in your honour." 

Of all the things he'd expected, that certainly wasn't one of them. When he didn't say anything, because what do you say to that, Lord Nott continued with a knowing look. 

"I did, of course, try to get as many of our brothers and sisters pardoned as I could but there wasn't much I could do for you and the Lestranges. Why were you with them, anyway?" 

Barty snorted without joy. 

"The bloody _trial_, if you can call it that, might have made it sound differently but they weren't actually apprehended in the act of torturing the Longbottoms. They were captured later, on the witness account of a house elf of all things and for some reason Karkaroff ratted me out as part of that mess? I didn't have anything to do with the torture of the Longbottoms– hell, Alice was _in_ _my year in Ravenclaw_."

"How did he even know you were one of us, Bartemius? Our Lord kept the allegiance of the son of the head of the DMLE under tight wraps, if I remember correctly? Only his inner circle knew of it. And stop calling me Lord Nott, you silly thing." 

"Alright, _ Cantankerus_," Barty drawled. "I was at the Lestranges' to ask Bellatrix about a certain object Voldemort left in her possession but she was too distraught to speak coherent sentences. I always did pity Rodolphus, you know? Trapped with that madwoman in a loveless marriage. Well, he's got other problems now. As you know the Lestranges are, were?, loaded so they let a couple of the less fortunate of our brothers and sisters stay with them after the war."

"Karkaroff among them?" 

"Precisely. He must have overheard us. I was there when he was on trial– a secret show of solidarity. Can you imagine? I was so blind then." 

"I understand. But I can see you have learned many things. You don't trust blindly anymore and that's a good thing." Cantankerus let his gaze wander over to Harry but kept talking to Barty. "Tell me now, Bartemius. Why the boy? Why take care of the one who - no offense, Heir Potter - cost us the war?" 

Barty was proud to see Harry smile deviously. 

"Show him, Harry," he commanded with a smile as wicked as his charge's and raised his new wand. "_Serpensortia_!" 

A young cobra appeared on the table and looked around dubiously. Harry started hissing to it and the cobra curled up and stared at the boy before replying to him with the same hissing sounds. 

"_Merlin's balls_," Lord Nott whispered as he shoved his soup plate away from him. "Bartemius what– who _ is _ this child?" 

"Surely you don't think our Lord would have been bested by a child warrior of the Light?" Barty couldn't hold back a little cackle. "A toddler, little more than a baby? Nonsense! I don't think you truly believed that for a second. Who else could beat him but an _ equal,_ Cantankerus?" 

Lord Nott blinked slowly once, twice, three times before his stoic face broke into a brilliant grin. 

"_I knew it_," the man cheered, standing up from his seat and pointing at Barty. "You want to bring him back and the boy is your key!" 

"If I am a key, I will be turning _ myself_," Harry clarified. "And when we bring him back, it will be as he used to be. Before the madness took over."

"You mean the Dark–," Theo began but his father shushed him. 

"Hush, Theo, we'll talk later," Lord Nott cautioned. "You want to restore his sanity? How?" 

"I'm afraid we can't talk much about the ritual yet," Barty answered, taking the lead. "As we get closer to our goal, we might require your assistance but the fewer people know specifics the better." 

"Who knows?" Lord Nott's gaze turned calculating. 

"Apart from the people in this room?" Barty shrugged. "Lord Arcturus Black and Cassiopeia Black. No one else. I trust your Occlumency well enough, Cantankerus, but it might be better to have Theo swear an Unbreakable Vow to only talk about what we've discussed here with the people in this room."

"Very well, we'll do that later. Why trust me with your secrets? Do you remember me this fondly, Bartemius?" 

"I remember you as a fair and cunning man, Cantankerus," Barty replied honestly. "I know you were one of Lord Voldemort's earliest followers, that you are still loyal and though we didn't speak of it at the time, I know you worried as much as I did about his steadily slipping control." 

"Yes," Lord Nott replied, looking out of the grand windows to his right with a pensive expression. "The more Tom Riddle was swallowed up by Lord Voldemort, the more I lost of my old friend. It was such a pity." The aged wizard sighed. "You brought out his best side, Bartemius– you and young Regulus. You were so much like we used to be back then. Dark, but _ brilliant_, desperate to leave a mark in this world. If there's anyone who can bring him back, I don't doubt it would be you." 

"You honour me too much," Barty answered, flushed, and looked down into his untouched soup. 

"You have given me much to think about," Lord Nott said slowly. "I thought we'd have to sit by idly while the Light-oriented factions drove our ministry and our society into the ground but now, I have hope once more. Rest assured I will have you welcomed in all the highest circles of wizarding nobility, Heir Black. While your allegiance comes as a surprise, our allies will ultimately be glad to have the House of Black back where it belongs."

Sirius looked surprised by that but inclined his head towards Lord Nott. "It will be my pleasure."

"As Heir Potter, I should wish you to attend your meetings as well if there are any," Harry declared. "House Potter will no longer be of the Light." 

"Certainly, Heir Potter," Lord Nott promised with a glint in his eye. 

The main course that followed tasted of victory and the sweetness of the dessert stemmed from the assurance of future triumphs as much as from the sugar. 

-o-

On the 10th of May, Barty's breakfast pancakes were topped with a mixture of 50% chocolate sauce and 50% firewhiskey. Sirius had called the concoction the Devil's Meal on Death Row and Barty had sneered at him while continuing to shovel the food into his mouth almost spitefully. 

Harry only laughed delightedly at their antics. His little charge was terribly excited for today and this bubbling display of joy was the only reason Barty hadn't feigned sick today. 

They'd agreed to meet at Black Manor so the children without a family member attending wouldn't be alone in the ministry. To Barty's pleasant surprise, all those guardians he'd contacted had been more than willing to accompany their little troupe. 

When the children Floo'd in, Draco came accompanied by his mother, Padma was with her father Bhagwant Patil and then, Millicent's big brother Eustace, Heir Bulstrode and already graduated from Hogwarts, came as well. (Millicent looked like a smaller version of him with longer hair and Barty felt a pang of despair for the bloodlines.)

The last to arrive were Stephen and his mother Elsbeth Cornfoot, née Rosier who Barty actually remembered from school. Contrary to her brother Evan, who'd died a year before the war ended, she had always been more moderate. Thus, as was the practice with many of the more practical Pureblood families, she'd been married off to a different flavour of the political spectrum from her sibling so the chances of the bloodline continuing were greater. 

Observing all their eager faces now, it all felt awfully much like the dreaded field trip to a museum Harry had endured during his brief stint in muggle school and Barty quickly reminded himself that this was all in their best interest. 

"Welcome, dear children and guardians. Thank you for being as punctual as always," he addressed them. "I'd like you children to group into pairs and stick with one adult. The ministry is bustling enough on normal days but Wizengamot days are even worse so don't get lost. If you do, go to the office nearest to your position and ask them politely to have someone escort you to Courtroom 1, please."

Barty wasn't surprised at all to see Harry make a grab for Theo and sidle up close to him but it still warmed his heart. 

They sent one adult and then their two charges after them. When Barty stepped out of the fireplace as the last adult, his prediction proved true– walking through the ministry was like moving through a swamp. 

He had Harry and Theo hold onto his robes and jutted out his elbows. His persona might not have looked like much on its own but Barty had been accused of resting bitchface in his youth so he used that to his advantage. 

Thanks to that fact coupled with a few well-timed wordless stinging hexes, they made it to Courtroom 1, the grandest chamber, none the worse for wear. They joined the others in a balcony in the visitors' area that had been roped off for them. With how many heirs and scions were among their little group, the permission slip had been granted to Lords Nott and Malfoy in no time at all. 

"I wonder if this is really as dry as you made it out to be, Alfy," Harry whispered to him. "I find it all very exciting." 

"That's because they haven't started the bloody roll call yet," Barty grumbled back. 

"You told me I'm not allowed to swear and you said that adults always have to lead by example," Harry reminded him and had the audacity to don an innocent expression. 

Realising he _ was _ behaving rather like a brat, Barty simply nodded his head. "No, you're right, I'm not a kid anymore. This is our future here– your future. I'll be good." 

Harry nodded back decisively and went back to observing the chamber. Soon, the doors at the back opened and the members of the Wizengamot entered in their plum-coloured robes. Those who had family among their group waved up at them surreptitiously and the children returned their greetings enthusiastically.

There was only one stand for the members of the Wizengamot during an official monthly meeting, located to the left of where they were sitting, and seats had been assigned since day one. It never got boring during debates about legislation. 

All in all, the Wizengamot had about 50 members at any given time. Several families had already been lost to the wheels of time and war and new families had been added in their stead. The Black family had been in the Wizengamot since its inception, of course. Then there were also the five ministry representatives who always changed when the positions were filled with new people. 

After the members of the Wizengamot and the ministry representatives had sat down, Dumbledore entered the chamber, took his place on a podium in front of the stand and bid the Wizengamot and visitors silence. 

To his credit, the old man only owlishly blinked once when he saw all the children sitting in the visitors' balcony while surveying their audience for today. Barty had narrowed the leak last time down to the bureaucrats working in the office Sirius and Harry had visited. They'd gotten an owl from Sirius a couple days earlier after all and a lady called Madeleine Edgecombe worked there who was supposed to be a dreadful gossiper. According to Aunt Cassie anyway. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. 

All their new allies had kept their mouths shut. 

"I welcome you all to the Wizengamot session of May, 1990," Dumbledore greeted them and splayed his arms in a grand gesture. 

What followed was a roll call that proved as boring as Barty remembered it. Only when they'd gotten done with Parkinson did he perk up out of his thoughts about a particularly tricky arithmantic formula he'd been struggling with. 

"House Potter?" Dumbledore's voice held a hint of long-suffering. 

"Present," Aunt Cassie said and rose from her seat in the third row. "I am Cassiopeia Black and stand before you as Proxy of House Potter until such a time as Heir Potter reaches his majority or has no need of my services anymore." 

"Noted, Madame Black," Dumbledore replied evenly. "Welcome to the Wizengamot to you and our future Lord Potter." 

With that, the old wizard turned towards their balcony with ostentation and all the visitors' heads followed his gesture. Barty cursed under his breath and knew that the way back was going to be rather blocked by well-wishers, gawkers and other riffraff. 

When the roll call was done, Dumbledore addressed the Wizengamot as was customary by asking whether anyone had business before the actual session. 

"House Nott has business before the Wizengamot," Lord Nott's voice rang through the hushed chamber as he got up. 

It wasn't often that anyone answered that particular call. 

"State your business, Lord Nott," Dumbledore requested warily. 

"I, Lord Cantankerus Nott, wish to call for a Vote," Lord Nott replied with the slightest hint of a smile. "A Vote for the removal of Albus Dumbledore as Chief Warlock and the ascension of Lord Gawain Greengrass in his stead." 

A deafening silence followed that declaration for all of three seconds and then everyone started chattering simultaneously until Dumbledore called for silence. This time, his voice was a little shaky. 

"Who Seconds that call?" 

It was old Lord Connor Cornfoot, whose alliterations reached all the way to Cornwall where he hailed from, who stood up in response. 

"I, Lord Connor Cornfoot, Second Lord Nott's call." 

Barty could hear some of the other visitors whisper to each other and even some Lords and Ladies exchanged calculating glances. He watched some of them, including Dumbledore, glance in their direction– especially to where Stephen sat between Theo and Daphne by prior arrangement. 

Harry's face, meanwhile, was all wide-eyed curiosity but the tight grip the boy had on the edge of his seat painted a different picture. Barty put his own hand over Harry's and squeezed it a little. 

"It's all going according to plan," he whispered into the boy's ear, gesturing as if he was explaining Wizengamot proceedings. "Now you'll see the power of political alliances at play." 

"Very well," Dumbledore said with a hard look behind his half-moon spectacles. "Let's vote." 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, the trial. The Lestranges couldn't have been caught in the act because if they had been, Karkaroff wouldn't have been able to rat Barty out– my boy would have been apprehended along with them.  
So he was basically sentenced on the word of a coward trying to save his own skin. There's never any confirmation, as far as I'm aware, that he's actually taken part in the Longbottoms' torture.  
Just like with Sirius, everyone just assumed that he must have been sentenced after thorough investigation. 
> 
> (don't mind me, spending my birthday being salty about a lack of proper jurisdiction in fantastical YA novels)
> 
> ALSO. I think I'll switch to Thursday as my posting day for this fic. I like Thursdays.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the nice comments and birthday wishes last chapter! I'll try answering some comments now that I've uploaded this chapter :>
> 
> Heads up, there's a big time skip of about half a year three quarters in!

The vote was close. It was so bloody close– but not close enough. Barty smiled. 

"23 to 25 with 9 abstentions from voting," Dumbledore called out after counting wands. His shoulders slumped the tiniest fraction in defeat. "I hereby transfer my position as Chief Warlock over to Lord Gawain Greengrass." 

With much less pomp and fanfare than during his entrance, Dumbledore left his podium and sat down in the bottom-most row of the visitors' area. The Dumbledores were no Noble family and thus held no seat in the Wizengamot. If he looked closely enough, Barty was almost sure that a storm was brewing over Dumbledore's head. 

Under a steady stream of applause, Lord Greengrass mounted the podium and flashed a brilliant grin towards his fellow Lords and Ladies and the visitors' area. Daphne forgot all sense of decorum for a second and jumped up in her seat, clapping excitedly. 

"Thank you, Lords and Ladies, for your faith in me," he proudly proclaimed and his handsome, strong-jawed face shone brilliantly, illuminated by the magical lights. "A special thanks to my friends and allies, Lords Nott and Cornfoot, for facilitating a new era in our esteemed circle. I shall be available to go over the agenda for the month's session every Wednesday at 2 pm in the informal meeting hall. I can, of course, always be reached by owl as well should you have urgent need of me in my position."

This offer was greeted with a generous round of applause even by those who hadn't voted for him. Barty leaned back in his seat and squeezed Harry's hand one last time. This soaring and at the same time constricting kind of feeling in his chest must be what a parent felt when their child did a particularly brilliant deed. 

As it were, Harry finally leaned back in his chair as well and exchanged a wink with Sirius down in the stands. Indistinctly, Barty wondered how long it would take their growing alliance to control all of the Wizengamot. With Harry's status as Boy-Who-Lived rallying the Light families and his support by Lord Nott winning over the Dark families, he could see the political landscape changing before their very eyes. Then again, the dice had been cast and things were in motion now, for good or bad. Who knew what sleeping goliath their actions might awaken? 

He also watched Minister Fudge all but beaming in his seat. Finally being rid of Dumbledore played him right into their hands– it was an open secret that the man had been paranoid about Dumbledore taking the position of minister for magic from him. Now, with Dumbledore holding no political position of power in the ministry, or _ any _ position in the ministry for that matter, this seemed rather unlikely. Already, the man was eyeing Lord Greengrass with a shrewd expression. 

Barty got out a notebook and tuned out the rest of the session. He left it to Eustace Bulstrode and Narcissa to explain the finer points of passing legislation to the children. Even Bhagwant Patil listened intently, seeing as he was next on the unofficial list to be voted in. 

It didn't take much longer than three hours all in all because Lord Greengrass had come prepared for the eventuality of his sitting as Chief Warlock. He knew the agenda by heart and from what Barty heard whenever he looked up, the man was doing his new job well enough. 

-o-

After the Wizengamot session had concluded, reporters began to swarm the floor. Most congregated around Dumbledore and Lord Greengrass. The latter obviously enjoyed the attention while the former tried his hardest to escape the hounds of free speech while still being polite. 

"Tasting his own medicine, he is," Barty whispered to Harry and flicked his eyes over to Dumbledore. 

"He won't learn from it," Harry shrugged. "He's too stubborn. But maybe we can use the reporters being focused on those two to get out ourselves?" 

"Afraid not," Barty hissen and turned towards their way out. "There's our own little troupe of reporters and members of the adoring public standing right there. Stay behind me, Harry, and do exactly as I tell you." 

Theo joined Narcissa, Draco and Pansy on Barty's prompting and met up with his father on the floor. They all passed through the mob with little resistance. When Harry and him were the last ones left on their little balcony and made no move to advance, the reporters edged forward until the boldest was just a couple feet away. 

"Mr. Potter, Rita Skeeter from Teen Witch Weekly! Please tell your young female fans how it feels to see your former mentor and magical guardian ousted from power so cruelly!" 

Harry looked up at him questioningly and Barty didn't quite know how to react to that particular brand of stupid. 

"There's so much wrong with this question alone, Ms. Skeeter, that I have to assume your intentions are nothing short of slanderous," Barty answered in Harry's stead. "Kindly step aside. Heir Potter is a young boy and I will not have him held prisoner here." 

Skeeter glared at him while the rest of the reporters and fans shuffled around a little but ultimately stayed where they are. 

"Mr. Potter," Skeeter started again, replacing her glare with a pasted-on smile as she turned her attention back to Harry, "do you think your dead parents would be proud of you for taking an interest in politics so _ very _early and sitting together with the scions of Dark families?" 

"Yeah, no. _ Silencio horribilis_." With a swish and a flick of Barty's wand, Skeeter's mouth vanished and she started clawing at her face with terror in her eyes. "Anyone else fancy a trip to St. Mungo's for antagonising Heir Potter?" 

Suddenly, the mob's willingness to let them through grew by leaps and bounds and most shuffled to the sides or walked away completely. There were still a couple of those with cameras and notepads and quills blocking their way though. 

"_Protego globellum_." When they heard him casting again, the reporters shrunk back, especially Skeeter who was now pressing herself to the railing of the balcony. 

To the naked eye, nothing had happened but when Barty started walking with Harry on his heels, little ripples of magic quivered through the air around them. He walked right into the reporters but about a foot before he'd have collided with the first one, the man was pushed to the side and crushed into the wall. 

"He made a domed shield," Barty heard a familiar voice explain. "You'd best make space or you can say goodbye to your ribs." 

It was Hawthorne, the reporter they'd met in Diagon Alley, who was wisely standing off to the side. Barty nodded to him in passing and led Harry quickly towards the exit when the last reporters scattered. Just as they reached the doors, three aurors came rushing in, their wands levelled at Barty. 

"We've been alerted to Dark magic having been cast by your wand. Are you Mr Hornby and did you cast it?" 

"_Silencio horribilis _ is considered Dark in England?" Barty made his eyes go wide. "In South Africa, a dinner spent without the need for it is considered a dull affair."

Harry giggled and stepped out from behind him. Immediately, the aurors lowered their wands.

"Harry Potter?" Their leader forgot his earlier ire and started grinning broadly. "The name's Aaron Vane, my daughter's your biggest fan!" 

"Oh, I remember her letters," Harry replied with a bright smile and the auror's face lightened up even more. "Romilda, was it? I spend time every Tuesday and Friday going over letters together with an adult. I really like the pictures she sent of your crup puppy last month."

"She named him Barry in your honour," Vane told Harry excitedly. "I hope it's not too forward of me to ask, but could you sign an autograph for her? It would make her whole week!" 

"Oh, sure. Do you have anything to write on?" 

The auror produced a notebook and a pen from his breast pocket. 

"Dear Romilda," Harry mumbled while writing, "Your father made sure that everything was in order today in the ministry and his service to magical society is greatly appreciated. Hm… I hope you have an amazing week and I'm looking forward to meeting you in Hogwarts once we're both old enough to be enrolled. Yours, Harry Potter. There, I'm done!"

Barty could pinpoint the exact moment Vane realised how many brownie points a personal note like this would get him at home. The man cleared his throat after accepting his notebook back. 

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. You didn't know about the spell's nature, Mr. Hornby?" 

"I'm afraid I still struggle with many cultural differences, Auror Vane," Barty apologised, inclining his head in shame. "All I could think about was protecting my charge Harry Potter from insolent questions and dozens of grown men and women crowding him on a dead-end balcony." 

The auror's eyes narrowed. 

"I told Bones not to allow reporters in the visitors' stands anymore," he growled. "I'll have to write another report on this. I understand, Mr. Hornby, but please be sure to get a brochure detailing what curses are forbidden to use in the ministry before you leave. I think we can put the incident behind us seeing as the only other spell you've used was a variant of _ protego _."

This confirmed the registration only picking up spells used with an incantation, he realised. Barty and Harry thanked the aurors profusely and were happy to be escorted back to the fireplaces with Barty dutifully holding onto a brochure entitled 'Dark Arts for Dummies'.

-o-

The next day, a Friday, Harry sought Barty out in the library after dinner. Since Sirius and him had reduced their duelling sessions to one weekend day back in March, he had plenty of time to work on the ritual in the evenings. His notes on Soul Magic alone filled three notebooks by now. 

"Hello, Barty," Harry greeted him. 

After a short moment of hesitation, Barty took off his talisman. 

"This never gets any less odd," Harry commented vaguely, watching as Barty's borrowed face rippled back into his own. "But I need to talk to you specifically now, and not Alfy." 

"Oh? Is something wrong?" 

"No," Harry answered promptly. "At least I don't think so. I was thinking about what Lord Nott said last month. About his Dark Mark affecting him in your and my vicinity. With your permission, I'd like to try speaking to it."

"Speaking to– oh, but there _ is _ a snake, isn't there?" Barty put his notes away carefully and sat up straighter. "I see, yes. An intriguing idea. Did you think of it yourself?" 

"I had another dream," Harry admitted. "They're getting more… vivid. Whatever part of him ended up in my head is gaining power alongside me. It was so easy to give all the right answers to that auror yesterday. Almost too easy? It's also second nature to know exactly what to say when with the other children. Where do you think the line is drawn? Between him and me, I mean?"

"I'm not sure whether there even is a line, Harry," Barty replied slowly, scratching at his forearm absent-mindedly. "It's been a part of you for almost 9 years now and since you're still young your mind, body and soul are still growing. It wouldn't surprise me if your own soul fully incorporated his soul shard into its midst. Can you talk to it, to him?" 

"No, I don't. I… tried. Sometimes I feel like I can trigger dreams pertaining to a special subject if I think hard enough of it before falling asleep but we can't communicate properly, the shard and I." 

"Mh, I see," Barty mumbled. "Problem is, there's no precedent for any of this. The whole of the Black library under my nose and yet there is nothing to be found because none of it has been done before. It's all just assumptions on this point and we only have one chance to get them right. The arithmancy alone is atrociously difficult and… no, enough of that, you wanted to test the Dark Mark."

Barty rolled up his left sleeve and presented Harry with the tattoo. The Mark was still as pale and ghost-like as it had been ever since 1981. Harry reached out for it slowly and his eyes flicked up to Barty's. He nodded almost imperceptibly in response and soon, Harry's warm fingers were splayed over the not-ink of it. 

Immediately, the slightest jolt of _ something _ coursed through Barty and he gasped, almost pulling his arm away. 

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" Harry let go off his arm and his brows were drawn in worry. 

"No, you didn't, it's…" Barty searched for the words. "It was almost like, like an _ echo _ of sorts. It always gave a little jolt when he touched it and now when you did it, it felt like, uh, like conjured food tastes. Like a dull memory of real food you've eaten. It was most peculiar but definitely not painful." 

Emboldened, Harry touched the Dark Mark again and moved his head from side to side in a serpentine motion. Not too long after, he started hissing and the Mark started thrumming like a little bird trying to escape its cage. It was a fluttering sort of feeling as if tiny wings beat against the inside of his skin and Barty didn't dare breathe. 

"The snake isn't answering," Harry told him in English again, "but somehow, I get the feeling that it understands what I'm saying, if that makes sense?" 

Before Barty could say anything, Harry started hissing again and there was an intense white-hot spear of pain in his arm reaching up to his shoulder. He instinctively groaned and pulled his arm free. 

"Oh no, I'm so sorry Barty," Harry immediately apologised. "I tried commanding it to answer after it didn't react to me being nice but it must have backfired." 

"Wasn't even that bad," Barty lied. "But since I'm left-handed, you need to be veeery careful with this arm. I'm quite attached to it." 

"That was a terrible pun," Harry shot back with a strained laugh, probably still feeling sorry. "Maybe it's tied to Voldemort's voice specifically?" 

"I'm not sure, I think the problem is that it's not supposed to encounter another Parselmouth so there's no protocol for behaviour related to that," Barty theorised. "In any case, I'm not terribly inclined to try again." 

"You've been of great help anyway. Thank you for letting me try at least," Harry grinned. Then, his expression turned solemn. "I suppose it's also been some time since I've properly thanked you for all you do, isn't it? You're here for me every step of the way and somewhere along that way, your goal has become our goal. I'm glad I have you in my life, Barty." 

"Oh, well, that's the second thing I wasn't prepared for today," Barty admitted with a bashful smile. He was a little stumped on what to reply to that without gushing about his little charge. "I'm… glad to have you in my life, too and I'm proud that you're starting to play the game properly. I've never had much patience for overt politicking but I will forever be happy to be your advisor." 

Harry laughed that clear, ringing laugh that only pre-pubescent boys had and shook his head. "You'll never be just an advisor, Barty. When we bring Lord Voldemort back, he can take Lord Nott or whoever as his right hand but _ you _ will be _ my _ right hand." 

"Who am I to talk you out of that?" Barty tried not to show just how touched he was but by Harry's indulgent grin he guessed he wasn't very successful. "Just, you're one of the good ones, Harry. Don't let anyone take that from you. Stay sharp, stay respectful, and the world will bow at your feet." 

"I think we should contact that reporter, Hawthorne, after what the Prophet said today. He's also always been respectful to us." 

With a shudder, Barty remembered opening the paper that morning. Dumbledore's face had been front and center, a polite but tired smile on his face, trying to excuse himself from the mob while in the background, Lord Greengrass was being congratulated by all and sundry. The picture had started anew just as Daphne was jumping into her father's arms in the background. 

The Prophet had spoken of a new era of political action taking place and was quick to distance itself from Dumbledore. It had even gone so far as to call his title as Supreme Mugwump into question. How quick the tide turned! 

Thankfully, none of their own run-in with the reporters had made it into the paper– a testament to Lord Nott being well-connected and Lord Malfoy owning half the Prophet, probably. 

"The people want to know about you," Barty nodded. "Almost desperately so. Going over letters and answering them with the solicitor isn't enough. We should talk to Sirius about this, make it a joint interview. 'The new life of Heir Black and Heir Potter — two ex-prisoners healing each other', or something tear-jerking like that."

"Three," Harry corrected him and carefully laid a hand on his left forearm. "Even if the public will never know of your true role in all this." 

Barty laid his right hand on top of Harry's and squeezed it. "I need nobody's recognition but yours and his, my young Lord," he promised, meeting Harry's gaze with a lopsided smile. 

-o-

Hawthorne was punctual. On the minute, in fact. As agreed on, he'd brought a photographer with him– an aged little bitty he introduced as his mother of all people. 

"Why bother with strangers if your mum can do the job and you both gain something by it," he shrugged in explanation. 

What followed was a thorough interview of both Harry and Sirius. They'd practised their edited version of events so often that Barty was sure they both believed it on some level which was, of course, the base of every good lie. 

He listened to Harry's description of being visited by Lord Arcturus Black at his old home and his relatives immediately allowing the man to take him. Of Barty becoming involved after he followed the call for a discreet international tutor. Them investigating Harry's past together and stumbling upon the lack of trial for Sirius in court documents of the time. 

It all sounded so plausible that Barty almost started believing in it, too. He _ had _made sure that this was the version the Dursleys believed, in any case. 

"And you, Mr. Hornby, several questions have reached us regarding your person. Would you consent to answer a question or two, as well?" 

"I do consent to at least listen to them before I make my mind up," Barty quipped with a wink and Hawthorne chuckled indulgently. 

"Now, our readers are interested in your education. What sets Magical South Africa apart from Magical Britain?" 

Barty considered that question for a moment or two. "We actually don't use wands over there as much," he explained. "I use it because my grandmother asked me to when she was dying and I was still a little child. She wanted me to keep up traditions from her home country, and who am I to deny an old woman her dying wish?" 

"Do they use staves over there, like Durmstrang still teaches her students in electives?" 

"They don't use anything, in fact," Barty corrected him. "Merely hand movements. Wouldn't have quite as much of an impact to snap their wands as it does here." 

Hawthorne was interested in that and Barty was incredibly glad he'd actually visited the country. "Oh? Then how do they keep their prisoners from escaping if they can just blast through a wall by pointing at it?" 

"We don't have many prisoners back home," Barty shrugged. "And those who've committed crimes bad enough to warrant a prison sentence are fitted with magic-restraining manacles. The ones your DMLE uses are actually imported from South Africa." 

The tour guide had been very proud to share that fact about South African exporting and Barty had appropriately oohed and aahed. Hawthorne, meanwhile, was busily scribbling away. 

"I didn't know that but that's very interesting," the reporter commented. "And what about you? Can you do wandless magic as well?" 

Barty pointed his left index finger at the reporter and fired a very mild stinging hex at his upper arm. Hawthorne squawked a little but grinned brilliantly. 

"That's amazing! Meeting other cultures is always so fascinating," he gushed. "But back to you, Mr. Black– please tell our readers about your feelings toward Lors Gawain Greengrass ascending to Chief Warlock during the Wizengamot meeting in May."

Sirius spent some time detailing Lord Greengrass' many good qualities while Barty's thoughts drifted off. Something about Hawthorne had started rubbing him the wrong way but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He desperately wanted to believe it was merely his learned paranoia talking and decided not to trouble Harry and Sirius with it until he had some sort of proof. 

After two hours of being interviewed and another ten minutes of posing for photos, Sirius and Harry were finally free and they said goodbye to Hawthorne and his mother. 

The next day, the Prophet was sold out. 

While their interview didn't make the frontpage - apparently, it had been unveiled yesterday that the 1994 Quidditch World Cup was going to be held in Great Britain - it was on page three. 

There was a nice picture of Harry and Sirius looking regal in front of the Black family tree and all in all, the interview had been printed like they'd agreed on. 

Thankfully, only a small blurp with a couple of his answers had made it into the paper after the main interview and Barty couldn't be happier about that.

-o-

"Just another mask," he softly told himself in front of the mirror. 

Barty wore a smart-looking set of dove-grey robes that did little to accentuate Alfred Hornby's plain features. Since Sirius was all better after a year of seeing mindhealers and physical therapists, there was no excuse not to attend the Malfoy Yule Ball. 

Especially since Draco was a part of Harry's study group and had even become somewhat of a friend. 

Barty supposed it said a lot about his character that he was more looking forward to stealthily raiding Malfoy Manor's secret dungeon level than to socialise with all the parents of Harry's friends. 

When he came down, Sirius, Cassiopeia and Harry were already waiting for him. Sirius' impossibly tall, angular frame was emphasised even more by a slim-fitting black robe made from the finest acromantula silk. Harry, who was finally settling into his Potter genes and growing like a weed, looked almost like a miniature version of his godfather, only with shorter hair and different eyes. 

Cassiopeia looked much like she always did– classy and regal in a stylish magenta dress. 

"You ready, Alfy?" Sirius locked eyes with him. "Everything prepared for your… adventure?" 

"Can you _ be _ any less suspicious, Sirius?" asked Aunt Cassie with a roll of her eyes. "Dear Alfy will manage just fine, don't you worry your pretty little head. You just go and socialise like a good boy." 

Sirius playfully growled at her and made a grab for their bowl of Floo powder. 

Barty felt like he'd travelled back in time when they arrived at Malfoy Manor. He last remembered being there when he was eighteen for a meeting of Lord Voldemort's Inner Circle. It had been the first and only time the esteemed company had heard about his existence in their ranks. 

Back when Abraxas had been Lord Malfoy. 

But he wasn't, not anymore. Instead, they were greeted by Lucius, Narcissa and Draco, the latter of whom vibrated with excitement when he saw Harry. His father put a restraining hand on Draco's shoulder which didn't curb the boy's enthusiasm much. 

After leaving the hosts behind them, they followed a shivering house elf who kept stealing glances at them to the formal parlour where the ball was held. The vast hallways they passed were tastefully decorated with mistletoe and fir trees and quite a host of other artistic knickknacks Barty didn't know the name of. 

Just as expected, they'd been late enough on the Floo list for most everyone to have arrived already. Since they'd planned for this eventuality, Lord Nott and Theo made a beeline for them when they entered the packed parlour. 

"Heir Black, Heir Potter, Miss Black," the old wizard greeted them and shook hands with each of them. "And Mr. Hornby, it's good to see you again. Harry, Theo can show you where the children have their own little party later on if you want." 

"I'd like that a lot, Lord Nott," Harry agreed. "May I, Uncle Sirius?" 

"Just as soon as we're done with our first round, Harry."

"None of us are allowed to wander off before 7 anyway, Harry," Theo explained to him. 

-o-

Doing their rounds and introducing themselves to the wizarding elite wasn't the _ worst _ experience Barty had ever had but it was up there. Especially since he had met everyone but the very young with a different face already. 

He watched detachedly as the Ladies cooed over Harry and made doe eyes at Sirius while the Lords greeted them with handshakes that were too strong and platitudes that were too empty. 

All the while, his thoughts were circling around the task that lay before him. He knew the hidden layer, secreted away under the dungeon proper. It didn't span the whole surface area of the manor of course but it was warded like there was no tomorrow. Which would be true for the Malfoy family if the Dark artifacts down there were ever discovered. 

Barty was busy marvelling over how old Lord Lestrange had gotten when he heard a clock chime 7 and all over the room, little shadows darted away from guardians' hands and parents' sides. 

With a smile and a wave, Harry and Theo followed the migration of everyone under 17 to a separate parlour and Barty wished desperately he could go with them. 

He was currently getting the fourth offer for a permanent tutor spot in an influential, noble wizarding family once Harry was off to Hogwarts of this evening. This time, it was by Lady Parkinson, the current Lord Parkinson's mother. Pansy's two younger siblings and her numerous cousins were, apparently, frightfully jealous of her receiving such noteworthy tutoring. 

Barty dutifully accepted another little card with information details on it - a Floo address and how to address a letter, mostly - and thanked the old lady for her generous offer. 

At least this time he wasn't introduced to all the snotty brats he was supposed to be tutoring since they'd left for greener pastures. 

If possible, it had gotten even more packed since their arrival and the mass exodus of bored children hadn't helped matters nearly enough. In other words, it was the perfect time. 

"I think I shall use the restrooms and go eat at the buffet, Lord Black," he told Sirius. "Will you be alright?" 

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Hornby," Sirius replied with a disinterested voice. "You go have some fun on your own. Enjoy the time around other adults." 

He winked after that and several of the many (many!) women surrounding him tittered a little. Barty refused to roll his eyes and bowed shortly before leaving Sirius to it. 

For a gay man, he sure was good at making women swoon. Or, well, he might be bisexual? _ One _relationship with a man did not a gay man make, he supposed. Also, hardly the time to speculate about Sirius' sexuality right now, he reminded himself, seeing as he was about to embark on a mission. 

After entering a bathroom stall - as opulent and richly decorated as the rest of the ball - Barty allowed himself to draw in a deep breath to center himself. 

Nothing for it, he told himself, might as well get it over with. He reached into a hidden pocket in his robes, painfully having been lined with mokeskin with his own hands, and pulled out Harry's invisibility cloak. Involuntarily, a shudder passed through him as the material seemed to flow through his fingers. He quickly threw it over his head before he could change his mind. 

He listened until there was no movement outside, concentrating on breathing in and out, and left the restroom with no one the wiser. From that moment on, the clock was ticking, because sooner or later someone would notice his absence and Sirius, Harry and Cassiopeia could only cover for him for so long.

His footsteps led him along deserted corridors until he reached the library that laid as still as a graveyard. He started searching for '_Potions Moste Illustriouse' _ and tried not to think about the stale air and claustrophobic feeling he was experiencing under the cloak. 

When he found it, he realised it was exactly where it had been nine years ago and suddenly he was eighteen again, standing next to Lord Voldemort. 

_ "You must remember this well in the future, Barty," Lord Voldemort commands and Barty's younger self nods solemnly. "You won't remember it tomorrow, you won't remember it in a year, but if worse should come to worst, you will find this memory inside yourself many years from now." _

_ "I understand, master," young Barty replies, eyes carefully trained on the ground. "I won't let you down." _

_ "I know you won't," Lord Voldemort chuckles darkly. _

_ That's when Barty, the older Barty, realises that his younger self is swaying lightly. Was he under the Imperious? A potion? A potion might explain his gradually returning memories… _

_ He watches Lord Voldemort pull at the book, open it to page 77 and touch the page number at the bottom with his wand. With a quiet whooshing sound, a shelf swings inwards and Barty follows his Lord into the darkness. _

Back in the present, Barty gasped when he resurfaced from his memories. He quickly looked around but there was no on there who might have snuckcup on him and even a human-revealing spell showed nobody. With a determined set of his jaw, Barty pulled the book out of the shelf and opened it to page 77. After another deep breath, he tapped the page number with his wand. 

Just like in his memory, the shelf swung inwards and again, he steps into the darkness. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone interested in fancasts?
> 
> (Stop reading immediately, lya!) 
> 
> I like both Sirius' and Barty's actors, very much so, in fact , but not in these roles. 
> 
> Here's who I see while writing:
> 
> Sirius is the Irish singer Hozier who is a literal, lanky giant of a man and Barty is played by Bradley James, albeit a little shorter and not quite as buff :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we meet two old friends. One's here to stay, the other, not so much <3

It was tempting, very tempting, to get rid of the invisibility cloak. It was dark, after all, and with all the Malfoys busy with hosting the ball… No. This was exactly how lesser men died! Tempted by their own indiscretions. 

This was the best chance they had and he would find the horcrux, no matter what. 

Standing very still in the darkness, Barty wondered whether he should use _ lumos _ or maybe _ hominem revelio _ or something different altogether? A flame charm, maybe? Something inside him told him a flame charm was the way to go. 

"_Campano caeruleum_," Barty whispered under his breath and a dancing blue flame sprang into existence a couple feet from the cloak. 

The blue fire danced merrily and showed he was on top of a spiral staircase leading down. Since his destination was under even the proper dungeon level, he supposed the stairs would lead him down quite a way. 

Feeling quite ominous, he started making his way down the roughly hewn winding staircase, careful not to lose his footing on the worn stone steps. 

Contrary to his expectations, he reached the end after what felt like only three complete turns around the central pillar and was confronted with a great, unadorned oak door. There was a ring of metal that served as a doorknob and he reached out with a trembling hand.

Before he can touch it, he is his younger self again. 

_ "Don't," Lord Voldemort warns him and his hand immediately stills where it is reaching out to open the same wooden door. "Don't be so foolish as to touch anything down here, Barty. Are you not a wizard?" _

_ "Yes, master," he hears himself say and lets his wand spring into his hand. "_Alohomora._" _

_ The door springs open quickly but there's no sound. He watches his master pass by him and follows him down a narrow corridor, all while his older self is itching to reach out, to cherish, to kiss the very ground these bare feet walk on. _

_ Before they've reached the end of the corridor, his master stops and turns to him. Barty's gaze is still cast downwards, and a long, pale finger under his chin makes him lift it up. He has to crane his neck a little to look into his master's eyes and realises he's about as tall as Sirius. His master's dark eyes bore into his and both Bartys feel their breath hitch. _

_ "You will see many things down here that you will morally object to, Barty," Lord Voldemort tells him. "I know you serve me truly but I also know you have no patience for mindless slaughter. Know that this particular brand of human cruelty is not of my doing." _

_ Both Bartys feel a sense of worry at this. Barty knows his younger self is decidedly more squeamish about some things than he is now but for his master to warn him like that? _

_ "I do wonder how your future self will be faring, my friend. Come along, now." _

Back in the present, Barty shook his head to get rid of the cobwebs loosened by the emerging memory and followed the shadow of his master's memory along the corridor. There was a light at the end of it and he tried not to think of the implications of that as he stopped the bluebell charm. 

Strangely enough, there were cell doors interspersed with magical wall torches to the left and right of the corridor which had widened out considerably behind an archway. They made him think of Azkaban and that was not a good thought. 

He tried, he tried hard, in fact, but you couldn't just go past cells and not look into them. With a relieved sigh, he saw they were currently unoccupied but there were memories inside that spoke of occupation. 

There were eight, four to each side, and three on the left held human skeletons lying carelessly on the ground right where they died. Barty remembered Abraxas Malfoy as a polite man, a proper gentlewizard, but there had always been a carefully hidden sadistic side behind his genial smile and outwardly affable demeanour. 

One of the cells to the right held a small skeleton and for a terrible moment, Barty thought it must be a child. Instead, he realised that the skull looked all wrong. He couldn't make it out very well through the invisibility cloak he was still wearing but the skull looked decidedly goblin-like. 

Experiments? He looked back to the three human skeletons. They had died without clothes on unless someone took the care to undress them after their death or vanished the clothes away at some point. They wouldn't have rotted that easily, it wasn't damp enough down here. 

He wondered whether the ones on the left might have been muggleborn wix folk, or maybe even squibs snatched out of their homes. With a shudder, he realised that they would have probably been alive while his younger self followed his master. He held no particular fondness for either muggleborn or squib but torture for torture's sake held no appeal for him. 

He left the sad remains behind him and reached a low chamber filled with examination tables complete with leather restraints and desks full of parchment and old grimy books. Great. To Lucius' credit, everything down here seemed to be untouched for _ years_, so the new Lord Malfoy either didn't know about this level or he didn't want to come down here. 

Either way, Barty was glad for it. He considered the four doors leading off of this central room and groaned when he felt a sense of vertigo he began associating with another vision nearing. He didn't want to see this in its glory days he really didn't, this was

_ so incredibly bad. Young Barty's eyes look around for only the slightest flicker of a second before he hefts them back to the hem of his master's robes. _

_ Looking down does little to stop the screams, though. There's a young man strapped to one of the examination tables and he's just been force-fed a potion by someone wearing a death eater mask. The mask does little to hide the long, blonde hair, of course. Barty saw the man drink but the sizzling as of burning flesh when he was forced to swallow was stomach-turning. _

_ "Just through here, Barty," Lord Voldemort says as he leads him through the left door, way in the back. _

_ They arrive in a small library and Barty's younger self draws in a breath of relief. Libraries were his thing, he could do libraries. _

_ He watches as Lord Voldemort locks the door behind them and casts his strongest privacy charm. _

_ "Doesn't Abraxas know about the book? You gave it to him, didn't you?" Barty vaguely remembers being afraid of asking questions in the beginning, but Lord Voldemort was, above all, a scholar. _

_ "He does, little lamb, he does," his master answers, looking at the door with a speculative glance as if he could see Abraxas behind it. "His unfortunate guinea pig, however, does not. You can never be too certain about anything, Barty. You need to be careful always." _

_ "I understand, master," his younger self answers reverently and watches again as Lord Voldemort takes a nondescript book bound in leather out of a shelf on the left. Until he has it in his hand, neither Barty had even noticed that it was there. "Between '_Mysteries of the Mind_' and '_Breeding Abraxans - A Guide by Abraxas Malfoy_', how apt." _

_ "Indeed," Lord Voldemort agrees and puts the book back. "And now, come here. Drink this, it's the second dose. No, all in one go, I know it tastes dreadful." _

_ Barty splutters and coughs as the sirupy liquid that tastes of mold and rot slowly runs down his throat. With his gaze clouded by tears, he is forced to look up into his master's eyes. _

_ "Don't look away now, be a good boy and leave your mind wide open for me. _ Legilimens._" _

Barty jolted back to his own time and staggered a little. He swore he could taste the terrible potion on his tongue still and quickly made his way over to the room from his memories. 

There, as expected, hoped, dreamed of, he found the book when he blindly reached for the nothing between the book about mind magic and the breeding guide. He only looked at it long enough to make sure that the name 'T. M. Riddle' was embossed into the back cover and stuffed it into his mokeskin pocket. 

When he tried to calm his racing heart he soon found that it was in vain. The little bird fluttering in its cage had migrated from his left forearm to his chest and grown an inch or ten in the process. Thus, with a steady beat dancing in his throat, Barty had to force himself not to break into a run. 

Instead, he walked back on silent feet, even having remembered placing a silencing charm on them in the bathroom. When he closed the oak door behind him with a spell, he allowed himself to heave a heavy sigh of relief and scuttled up the stairs as quickly as he dared.

He inched the back of the shelf forward and peeked out cautiously. The lights were still dim in the library and a quick _ Tempus _ charm revealed that he'd been gone for 35 minutes since he was in the loo. Not bad. Better than his estimates, if he was honest, but he hadn't anticipated how well his master had prepared things a decade in advance. 

Barty dared open the shelf further and slipped out. He put '_Potions Moste Illustriouse_' back where it belonged and was back in the restroom before he knew it. 

Stuffing the invisibility cloak into his pocket, he actually did use the loo this time before styling his boring brown hair back the way it was before being flattened by the cloak. He made his way back towards the ball on impossibly light feet and he could already see the grin on Harry's face when he'd show him the diary later this night. 

Drunk on victory, he noticed the weight slamming into his side just a second too late. 

He landed on the floor in the room he'd just been passing and rolled with the force of the impact to at least get into a crouching position and get out his wand. The door slammed shut. 

"Why were you down there!" It sounded more like an accusation than a question and Barty turned, surprised. 

A house elf? The shivering one that had led them to the parlour… He'd been found out, but how? 

"Whatever are you talking about? Let me out this instant!" 

"Dobby can't, master guest sir," the little house elf screeched in his too-high voice and Barty quickly spelled a _ muffliato _ on the door. "Dobby has to know why the good kind teacher of the good kind Harry Potter has been down in the dungeon of despair!" 

The dungeon of despair? A fitting name, to be sure. Barty watched detachedly as the house elf proceeded to slam its head on the floor for its insolence. He didn't think of another house elf with a big nose and kind eyes that paid the price for obeying her master. 

He pushed the memory threatening to bubble up away and instead considered his options. 

"What do you know of what I did down there?" 

"Dobby didn't see you but Dobby can always see through the wizards' cloaks but not this one. Dobby followed you silently and he watched a blue flame dance and a hand grab a book that wasn't there, master guest sir and Dobby has to know _ why _ the kind master guest sir has taken something from the dungeon of despair that _ he-who-must-not-be-named _ put there!"

"Merlin, you were down there back then," Barty realised and gagged when a vision of another occupied cell returned to him. "That's why you're so… like this!" 

The house elf winced. "Dobby was a malfunctioning house elf before the dungeon of despair and Dobby is a malfunctioning house elf after the dungeon of despair. Nothing should ever come up from there. Nothing!" 

"I need what I took to protect Harry Potter," Barty improvised. "This could be used to do great evil if it found its way into the wrong hands." 

"You wish to destroy it to save Harry Potter?" When Barty nodded, the house elf burst into tears and sobbed into its too big hands. "Ooh, the guest master sir _ is _ good and kind and Dobby _ hurt _ the guest master sir and now Dobby needs to hurt in turn!" 

Did _ Obliviate _ work on house elves? This was a loose end that could not be left open. Alas, the mind-altering spell _ could _ be broken if you had little regard for the victim… with a heavy heart, Barty flipped over the heavy wardrobe the house elf was currently banging his head against and watched it bury the small creature underneath it. 

He rationalised that he was putting it out of its misery as much as covering his tracks and hit it with an _ Avada Kedavra _ for good measure. He knew for a bittersweet fact that those worked on house elves, too. 

-o-

When he arrived back at the party, it was as full as ever and just about everyone was at _ least _ tipsy. Barty snatched a flute of champagne from the nearest waiter and downed it in one go. He was happily surprised to see the flute disappear just as it got empty. Beautiful piece of charms work, that.

After a tiring walk across the floor, he found that Sirius was off towards the back, talking with Lords Nott, Malfoy and Parkinson and he greeted Barty with a little side hug when he joined them. He refused to feel bad for killing Lucius' house elf when the man himself nodded to him in greeting. 

"Hello, Lord Black, are you enjoying yourself? Shall I go look if Harry is doing fine?" 

"Quite, yes," Sirius replied with a mischievous smile. "Lord Nott saved me from the unwed and the widowed earlier and our gentlemen round has been serving as quite the vestige of safety for me since then." 

"So you'd indeed prefer if I checked on Harry and braved the willing masses again in your stead?" 

"If you'd be so kind, Mr. Hornby." 

Barty bowed politely to the Lords and left them to it. He kept to the sidelines on his way to the smaller parlour where the children were supposed to be congregated because the way through the middle of it had taken quite a lot longer than he'd needed it to.

And congregated they were. There weren't as many children as there had been adults since the smallest had obviously been left at home with nannies and house elves and Purebloods had notoriously few children. But with the smaller room, it felt just as full as the other one. 

He could see the odd adult sticking out from amongst the chattering mass of children, presumably checking on their charges as much as he was. There was Narcissa, too, talking in a corner with some other ladies. He supposed someone ought to be keeping watch on the little hellions and was glad it wasn't him. 

His entrance was noted, of course, and he vowed to make his lessons less interesting from now on because seemingly every Pureblood child wanted in on them if their parents were to be believed. 

"Alfy!" Harry was by his side in an instant, Theo and Draco and a few other kids on his heels. "We've just been talking about you. Cormac here, Cormac McLaggen, his uncle is Tiberius Ogden, he says that you have to wrestle a _ troll _ to be Sorted into your Hogwarts House and I told him that can't be true because if you had to wrestle a troll you'd have given me troll wrestling lessons by now."

Barty eyed the tall, dirty-blonde boy with a hint of suspicion and saw him draw himself up to his full height. 

"The Hogwarts Sorting is a mystery to the uninitiated," Barty admitted slowly and saw the hint of a self-satisfied smile appear on Cormac's face. "It could be anything, of course. As far as I know, young Mr. McLaggen here has been Sorted into Gryffindor, so he ought to be a brave young man. You'd better ask him about the best strategy to wrestle a troll Harry, just in case." 

With a sly smile, Harry turned to Cormac. "How _ did _you wrestle that troll, Cormac?" 

"I, well, I just, kinda, grabbed its leg and made it fall and then I, uh, put it into a choke hold and it surrendered and I got into Gryffindor." 

"A troll's neck has a diameter of 3 feet," Theo said with his arms crossed. "You would _ never _ be able to get your hands around its neck." 

"Father says I shouldn't listen to all these theories, anyway," Draco interjected. "He says the Malfoys have always been Sorted into Slytherin and worrying is for weaklings only." 

"I'm not a weakling," Pansy, who'd come with them, said forcefully. "I think Cormac is a _ liar_." 

"And _ I _ think Cormac is just jealous he wasn't at Harry's birthday party," Tracey said and the girls started giggling. 

"I didn't even know Cormac back then," Harry argued when the older boy started actually looking somewhat hurt at their comments. "Will you come to my next birthday party, Cormac?" 

"Oh, yes, of course," Cormac replied and clung to that comment like a lifeline. "I can tell you lots more about Hogwarts by then, if you want." 

Harry agreed and the realisation that the younger children would go to Hogwarts in merely eight months' time set them all a-chattering again. 

Grand plans were made for a shopping trip with all of them and their friends and the friends of their friends and Barty quickly left them alone before he could be unwittingly roped into any more chaperone work. Just before he got too far away, though, Barty turned to look back at them and winked as he caught Harry's eye which made the boy grin unabashedly before he turned back to his friends. 

He'd planned to go and get some more champagne to calm his still jittery nerves but Narcissa and her ladies interjected his escape. 

"My dear Mr. Hornby, how nice you could make it," she said with a smile and he kissed her hand with the best bow his late mother had made him study so often. 

"The pleasure is all mine, Lady Malfoy," he replied with a smile. "I especially liked the Vanishing Charm when your glass becomes empty. A crafty piece of spellwork." 

He'd noticed that at least three of Narcissa's gaggle of ladies were older daughters of Noble Houses who were in need of a good marriage match and remembered Aunt Cassie's warnings of being in too close proximity to them. 

The war had, of course, cost quite a few Pureblood families the odd scion or six and it had been mostly males so there was a shortage of eligible men to choose from in his age bracket. Thinking about this, he could understand very well how Sirius' reintroduction into polite society had all the women so aflutter. 

Fortunately, a house elf appeared next to Narcissa with a Crack and bade her speak in private. Barty realised his error of celebrating prematurely when the ladies started swarming him upon Narcissa's departure. 

"It's so good to get to meet you," one of them said and held out her hand to be kissed. "I'm Madelyn Parkinson, my niece Pansy has been talking about your lessons so much, I could hardly wait to get to meet you. And then you're so _ exotic_, too. South Africa, just imagine!" 

"And still British Pureblood in his veins," another lady agreed and he kissed yet another hand. "I'm Stella Rowle, nice to meet you, Mr. Hornby." 

The third was rather quiet and he recognised some of her features instantly. He must have met her before. 

"Rosalind Lestrange, Mr. Hornby," she simply introduced herself with an air of indifference. 

Ah, of course, Rabastan's and Rodolphus' cousin, he remembered now. She was the only one of the three women who'd gone to Hogwarts with him, even though she'd been about, what, three years his junior? 

"It is lovely to meet you all," Barty forced himself to say and sent a quick thanks to Merlin when Narcissa returned. 

"One of our house elves has died," Narcissa told them in a hushed voice and the other ladies gasped and made a show of comforting their friend since house elves were valuable commodities. "He was found by one of the others when he didn't report to do his duties. A wardrobe fell over on him while he was hurting himself again." 

"Oh dear," Madelyn Parkinson cooed and patted Narcissa's arm. "It was the defective one, wasn't it? Let's just be thankful the poor thing has been put out of its misery, yes? Come on, we'll get you something strong to drink and sweet to eat." 

The ladies walked off together and Barty had had quite enough of a rollercoaster of emotion for one night. For a second there, he'd feared Narcissa would turn around and accuse him of killing her house elf! 

He went back quickly to join Sirius and the other Lords and spent the rest of the evening drinking champagne and eating what had to be sinfully expensive canapés. 

-o-

They went home way later than any of them usually stayed up and after a quick confirmation that he did, indeed, get the horcrux without being caught (well…), they all went to bed. 

Harry had wanted to hold it once, of course, but he reported not feeling anything in particular upon touching it so they relayed further examination to the morrow. Or afternoon. It _ had _ been a lot of champagne. 

Sitting in his bed, already changed into his nightclothes, Barty considered the diary instead of going to sleep because he was still drunk and had little impulse control. It was weird that, even though it was supposed to be his master's old diary, no writing whatsoever was visible. At least not to the naked eye or to the about seven revealing spells Barty had tried already. 

He tried one last time and whispered: "_Hominem Revelio_." 

The diary glowed a little and Barty gasped in pain when it became hot in his hand. He let it fall on his covers and it landed on its back, pages open. To his surprise and horror, words in a handwriting he knew so well yet hadn't seen in a decade snaked along the page. 

_ Who are you? Why are you trying to hurt me? _

Barty was not ashamed to admit that he screamed a little. He was sober in an instant, _ Accio _'d a Pepper-Up Potion to him from a shelf nearby and downed it. He reverently carried the diary over to his desk and unscrewed an ink bottle with trembling hands. 

_ I don't mean to hurt you, my Lord. _ (He hesitated briefly.) _ I've been looking for you for years. _

_ Are you one of my schoolmates? _

_ No. I'm friends with one of them, though. Cantankerous Nott. _

Barty knew he had to be careful here. He wasn't entirely sure what he was dealing with - the soul shard? A persona of his master, frozen in his school day glory? - so he didn't want to come on too strong and overwhelm whoever he was dealing with. 

There was a pause in the other's writing. 

_ He is older now, isn't he? _

_ Yes. He has a son who is friends with my _ (here, he hesitated again) _ pupil. _

_ Your pupil? _

_ He is also my friend. Our relationship is very complex. _

_ What is your name? My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. _

_ My name is Bartemius Crouch Jr. I'm named after my father, too. _

_ Oh? You know of my history, then. Is yours a good man to be named after? _

_ No. Not to me. I killed him. _

_ Interesting. Do you regret it? _

_ I regret no murder I've committed under your orders. _

_ I know someone called Crouch. You are a descendant of theirs? _

_ Probably, yes. It's 1990 now and it just turned December 23rd three hours ago. _ (A pause.) _ It's your birthday in a little over a week. _

_ How do you know when my birthday is? Did Nott tell you? _

_ No, you did. We spent your birthday together in 1979. I had just turned 17 at the time and was set to graduate Hogwarts in half a year. _

_ You are young, then… I like getting gifts. Did you get me anything even though you were so young back then? _

_ I gifted you with my never-ending servitude, for one. You expected nothing more that day, but I also gave you a selection of hairs from different aurors I managed to obtain. My father was the head of the DMLE at the time. _

_ And yet you served me? _

_ Serve, present tense. I never stopped serving you, my Lord, even when your reign ended. There was a prophecy that foretold of the one with the power to vanquish you approaching. Unfortunately, we didn't know all of it and you believed it and tried to kill the prophecy child in infancy. The killing curse reflected (nobody knows why as of yet) and you vanished. _

There was a long pause and Barty was just starting to consider calling it a night when the diary version of his master seemed to have made up its mind. 

_ You wish to bring me back? _

_ There is nothing I wish for more than that, my Lord. _

_ What of the child? Did it perish, too? _

_ No, he's alive. Be mindful now, my Lord, and please, reserve judgment for when you know all the facts. Much has happened you know nothing of yet, but I will tell you all in time. I could need a sharp mind to look over my arithmancy for the resurrection ritual so I plan to fill you in on everything that has transpired. _

_ I understand. The child– he is your pupil. _

_ The night you attacked him, you killed his parents because they wanted to - understandably - protect their son. He was orphaned at one year old and Albus Dumbledore put the boy with muggle relatives on his mother's side. _

_ That blasted Albus Dumbledore put him with _ _ muggles_? _ A wizarding child? _

_ He learned nothing from your case, my Lord. _

_ My _ _ case!__? You seem to know an awful lot about me, Barty. That's what you call yourself, yes? Or is it _ _ Alfy _ _ these days? _

With a hammering heart, Barty slammed the diary shut and shrunk back from his desk. He'd never said anything about his alter ego– was the soul shard a legilimens? Could inanimate objects even _ be _legilimens!? 

He wanted to read back on what they'd written but the words had immediately vanished into the pages and he feared he'd made a mistake anywhere. But he could hardly have strung along the Dark Lord himself, teenage version or not, right? He'd have noticed either way that Barty knew lots about him. 

He opened the diary again. 

_ Sorry. Got spooked. _

_ I didn't want to frighten you but I'm not used to people knowing so much about me. My other self must have trusted you greatly. You really serve me still and want to bring me back? _

_ I do. Can I prove it somehow? I would take off my protective ring if that made it easier to see into my mind? _

_ I could take you here, to me. Not for long, but I could do it. Not unlike visiting a pensieve. I need energy for that, though, and I should think that I don't want to use yours for it. I believe I might have great need of your service still, Barty. _

_ Would a squib work? _

_ For a time, yes. You have someone in mind? _

_ The relatives of Harry's I mentioned. _

_ Harry, is it? A squib relative would work. Will you bring the boy? _

_ No, he's still young and there are many things I need to tell you about him before you can meet. But I need to go to sleep now before I write anything stupid. I only _ (another hesitation) _ procured your diary this very night. _

_ Will you give me a hint as to his specialness so I have one more thing to think about while I wait for you to return to me? _

_ He speaks Parseltongue. _

_ Oh. _

Nothing came after that for a long while, so Barty closed the diary slower than last time and screwed his ink bottle shut. He didn't dare leave a horcrux lying around on his desk so he took it to bed with him and put it under his pillow. 

That night, his dreams were filled with red eyes and dark cells and shadows creeping through the nothingness between sleep and waking and sucking all the joy and happiness out of life. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye Dobby! Hi Tom!
> 
> Good trade-off :>
> 
> Btw, have I ever mentioned that I do all my writing on my phone? :0 I think I'd win the thumb wrestling championship easily by now.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (our kitchen and bathroom are still being remodelled (week foUR) and I have a baby to take care of, so answering comments is unfortunately below all that on the list but I think you all understand that <3)  
(they should be done on monday, praise merlin!!)

When he woke up several hours later, Barty's first instinct was to check whether the diary was still under his pillow– it was, of course. 

Upon coming downstairs, he was greeted by a breakfast put under a house elf variant of the stasis charm and helped himself to toast and sausages because his hangover demanded sustenance. 

While stuffing his face, he quickly penned a note to the others telling them he was gone on an errand and would return as soon as possible. 

The diary wandered into an inside pocket of his robes and Barty was off.

When he rang the doorbell of Number 4, Privet Drive, not fifteen minutes later, he couldn't hold back a devious sort of smile when a horse-faced woman opened the door in her dressing gown. 

He'd used a glamour to make his robes appear like a simple muggle business suit, so Petunia Dursley only frowned a little in confusion and not in panic. 

"Yes? How can I help you?" Her tone was curt and barely polite. Barty hated her instantly. 

"I'm sorry for the disturbance, miss," he answered in a contrite voice. "You're Mrs. Dursley, yes? I'm Mr. Jones and I'm with the power company. We seem to have charged you twice this month and since it's so close to Christmas, we wanted to personally make sure that your family is alright financially." 

Instantly, Petunia's demeanour changed. 

"Oh, you did? We haven't noticed, but then my dear Vernon does of course earn quite a substantial amount of money and we never want for anything." She coyly covered her mouth with her hand and giggled like a naughty schoolgirl. It grated on his nerves. "Why don't you come in and I'll make you a cup of tea while I look for the bank statements."

He followed her into the kitchen and sneaked a surreptitious glance at the cupboard under the stairs when they passed it on their way. A hot flame of violent anger threatened to set him aflame but he swallowed it down with dark promises. 

Just a few more minutes. 

While he let the cup of tea cool down because like hell was he going to drink anything that woman had concocted, she was off looking for some folder or other and Barty was free to observe the kitchen. 

He looked at the stove and remembered the faded burn scars on Harry's hands and forearms that they'd gotten rid off with magical healing. A dirty pan was waiting on the stove and Barty wondered whether it was the one that had caused the badly healed crack in Harry's skull. 

So when Petunia returned, he grit his teeth and smiled on. 

"Did you find anything?" 

"No," she shook her head and put a folder on the table. "There has only been one charge from you this month." 

"Then it must be a technical error on our side," Barty shrugged and pulled out the diary. "If you could just write a short statement in my book? Something like "The power company doesn't owe me money, signed Petunia Dursley." 

"I'm a busy woman, Mr. Jones, can't I just write my name and you add the rest? My beautiful little angel is going to be waking up soon and he's a growing boy. He needs his breakfast!" 

"Oh, but of course, Mrs. Dursley," Barty agreed easily. "If you'd just sign your name on the bottom of the page?" 

Barty took what looked like a muggle biro and handed it to her. 

In that moment, the door to the kitchen opened and the dreadful boy Barty had watched torment Harry came waddling in. 

"Muuum, where's breakfast! My show is starting!" 

He was still wearing his pyjamas and had his arms crossed defiantly like a whiny toddler. 

"Ooh, of course duddykins, mummy's gonna make you your favourite snacks very, _ very _ soon." While she was talking to her beachball, she absent-mindedly signed the diary and scratched the back of her hand when she was done. "You need to get that biro of yours looked at, Mr. Jones, there must be a sharp edge somewhere. And I really need to get a nice breakfast going for my boy now." 

"_Finite_," Barty said after she'd signed her name and turned to her son. 

The beachball's eyes became big when Barty's suit turned back into robes and Petunia followed the direction of her son's gaze. She paled instantly when she saw his robes. 

"You're one of _ them,_" she hissed at him. "I already told your Mr. Dumbledore that a man who said he was the freak's great-uncle came here after _yet another_ freak accident at school and took him with him! I haven't seen him in _ years _ and I couldn't be happier!" 

"Oh, I know exactly where Harry Potter is," Barty told her with a smile. "Have known for the last 4 years, actually. You see, _ I'm _ the one who took him away from you and altered your memory some months ago. And I've been _ waiting _ to get to meet you properly, Petunia Anne Dursley." 

Petunia toppled over the chair she'd been sitting on in her haste to get away from him. She stumbled to stand in front of her fat son and had her fists futilely balled at him. 

"What did I sign? What did you freak make me _ sign_!" 

"Oh, just your death sentence," Barty replied nonchalantly and flipped the diary around to watch the blood be absorbed into the page. 

_ Petunia Dursley… how disgustingly _ _ muggle _ _ . And you had her use a blood quill. Why, my opinion of you is improving in leaps and bounds, Barty. This will simplify matters greatly. _

Barty used his wand to slam the kitchen door shut before the rude boy could waddle away and locked it. 

"Let us leave immediately, or I'm calling the police!" 

Barty chuckled. 

"Mum, get away," beachball complained and kicked his mum's shin to make her release him from where she'd been grabbing onto him. 

"What a polite, young man," Barty cooed and stalked closer to the pair of squibs. 

"Get away from me," Petunia squealed, holding her shin while Dudley hammered against the door. 

"Daaad, there's a freak here! Daaad!" 

Great big steps stalked down the staircase and made their thunderous way over to the kitchen. 

"Petunia? What's that about a freak? Are you in there?" The voice of Vernon Dursley was booming and the door rattled when he tried to get in. "Petunia, this door does not have a lock, stop it this instant!" 

Barty cast a muffliato on the door and looked back over to Petunia and Dudley. He pointed his wand at the boy and thought for a second. 

"_Obliviate._" Petunia wasn't quick enough to throw herself into the line of fire. "Your mummy's been gone for a whole day now and you miss her terribly. No one can prepare your food like mummy can. No one can play with you like mummy can. No one loves you as much as mummy does. You'll never be happy without your mummy." 

He watched Petunia's eyes grow bigger with every word.

"But I haven't been gone, what are you talking about? Vernon, **Vernon**, get in here!" 

Barty cast a disillusionment and a body-bind spell on her and opened the door with a flick of his wand. Vernon, who'd apparently been throwing his massive weight into the door, flew into the room and landed on his shoulder with a crack. 

"Suppose that was your collarbone," Barty drawled. "Bummer. You must be Mr. Dursley. Vernon Dursley. I've heard a _ lot _ about you from my dear, dear Harry." 

Vernon's eyes, which had been bulging already upon seeing Barty standing in their kitchen with his robes and his wand seemed to almost pop out of his face when he mentioned Harry. 

"The freak isn't here anymore," he yelled and laboriously got up from the floor. "Where's my wife, you freak, and what have you done to my boy!" 

"_Obliviate_. Your wife has been gone a whole day and you're getting worried. The boy is crying all the time and you hate it. Nothing you do is good enough for him and you wish he was more self-reliant. He'll have to do the chores because you work and you are tired in the evenings."

Both father and son stared through him with vacant expressions and Barty grinned at them. He ended the disillusionment spell on Petunia and used the same silencing charm he'd used on Rita Skeeter on her. 

Even though she wasn't able to move, the tears her wild eyes were shedding spoke of her terror. 

Barty vanished his cup, put the bloodquill away and roughly grabbed onto Petunia's upper arm before Apparating away with her. 

They reappeared in the grounds of Black manor, as near as the Anti-Apparition wards allowed, and Barty used a levitation charm on Petunia to walk her over to the manor. 

"See this lovely manor with its whimsical grounds? This is where your nephew lives now. He's a very happy boy with good teeth, healthy skin and muscles on his well-fed body." He stopped them to let her admire the gothic exterior of Black manor and smiled at her. "Took me ages to reverse all the damage you did on him, you know? He still has nightmares from time to time and I can't take them away from him but I can be there every time and care for him." 

They entered through a servants' entrance and if Petunia's head bumped against the doorframe, well, she sure couldn't say anything about it. 

"I fantasized about this moment a lot, Petunia Dursley," he told her in a solemn voice as they passed into the dungeon level of the manor. "I dreamed of the day I'd find a cause worthy enough to sacrifice you for, and yesterday, I finally did." 

When they reached a rough wooden door, Barty threw open the withered wood and levitated Petunia inside. It was an old pantry of sorts. The ground was packed dirt and there was no window. 

He dropped her and undid the body bind. She tried to scream, but with no mouth there was only a muffled approximation of one. 

"You may try and scream, Petunia. Scream all you want. No one will find you here. I will tell the house elves to feed you, oh, every two days, maybe? After all, you thought that was enough for a little boy tasked with too many things, so a woman with little to do but think about her bad choices shouldn't need more food than that. What do you think about that? What? No mouth? We don't tolerate freakish behaviour like mouthlessnees around here, _ freak_. You had better grow one until I'm back or there'll be _ hell to pay_, young lady!"

Barty enjoyed throwing their own words back at her. He'd looked at a couple of Harry's memories in the Pensieve and to finally get to act on the hate that had been boiling inside him for all this time felt very good. 

Like scratching an itch that had been bugging him for _ hours._

When he left the makeshift cell, he didn't look back and cast a _ muffliato _ on the door as an afterthought as he was walking away. 

-o-

"Barty, you're back," Harry greeted him when he walked into the sitting room. 

Barty had foregone the persona and thought he'd quite like to be himself during the holidays. Harry got up from the comfortable settee he'd been lounging on while reading and grinned at him. 

Quickly crossing the distance between them, Barty pulled Harry into a tight hug and heard him gasp a little with the force of it. 

"Sorry, Harry," Barty mumbled into the boy's hair. "It's been a stressful couple of days and I've realised yet again what a wonderful boy you are." 

"You're a big goof, Barty," Harry laughed and hugged him back just as fiercely. "I was so relieved that you did it! Can you show me again?" 

"Just give me a second," Barty asked, and Harry stayed engulfed in his arms with an indulgent chuckle. 

The boy smelled sweet and clean, a proper young gentleman, and the raging fire in Barty's chest receded a little. Ghosts of the past couldn't reach his beautiful young Lord anymore, he wouldn't let them. 

He almost felt a spot of pity for the unlucky fool who'd be the first to manage to actually hurt Harry intentionally. 

"I will never let anything bad happen to you ever again, Harry," Barty promised. "Cross my heart and hope to die, nobody will touch you. If anyone so much as lays a finger on you, I'll cut it off and serve it to them and then I'll set fire to the rest." 

When they let go, Harry took a step back and looked up at him. 

"Is that why you fed Remus Lupin to the thestrals? Because he could have hurt me?" 

"He put a body bind curse on you, that's more than enough hurting for me," Barty scowled. "If anyone ever actually manages to hurt you, the consequences will be a lot more dire."

"More dire than being eaten by thestrals?" 

"Well, he was already dead when they started munching, wasn't he," Barty grumbled. "Next time, I wouldn't be so generous."

"And when do you think next time is?" 

Barty didn't answer for a moment. "You wanna see one of your Christmas presents early?" 

-o-

When they walked into the little makeshift cell, Petunia was cowering in one corner, legs drawn up to her chest. She looked like she had been crying.

Harry had turned to stone the minute he'd laid eyes on her and Barty started considering the possibility that springing this on the boy might have been a mistake. 

"_Y__ou,_" Harry hissed suddenly. "How many times have you walked in on me while I was sitting like this!? How many times did you look at your nephew, your own flesh and blood, in this very situation and felt _ disgust_, rather than pity?" 

Harry's little form was shaking and Barty put a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

"But you know what, _ Petunia_? I have a new family now. I have new aunts and uncles and cousins and all of them care about me! I have friends! They love me and they're just like me and whenever they see me they start smiling!" Harry was screaming at her now and Petunia tried shrinking even further into the corner. She had no mouth to sob with but she was crying. "You tried taking everything away from me, you vile, hateful woman, and look where you are now! I hate you, I hate you, _ I hate you _ and whatever Barty does to you, you deserve!" 

With that, Harry turned around and ran from the room. Barty waved at Petunia with a smile and closed the door behind him. 

Harry was just around the corner, face buried in his hands. 

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry for not preparing you for this. I was too excited, I fear," Barty fretted and didn't know what to do with his hands. 

"No, it's quite alright, Barty," Harry reassured him, slowly lowering his hands. "You know, I was… I was so afraid of them. Of her. She was huge and fearsome in my memory and in my dreams, but the woman back there, she was just a _ muggle_. There's nothing she could do against you because you're so much stronger than her." A pause. "I can't wait until I learn proper magic, Barty."

Barty kneeled in front of Harry and took one of his hands in his. 

"You will have nothing to fear, Harry, I told you," he promised again. "I will make sure that you are so formidable a wizard that anyone will think twice before even considering attacking you. And once we have Lord Voldemort back, he will be able to teach you so much more." 

Harry's bright green eyes bored into his and they looked very nice with the way they were twinkling mischievously now. 

"I'm looking forward to this, my friend," the boy said. "I can't wait to get to meet him properly. Did you find out anything about the diary yet? Is this why she's here?" 

Barty hesitated before answering. 

"Indeed, yes, but let's go upstairs first. This is a dreary place for dreary people and I'm quite in the mood for Christmas cheerfulness now. We should wake up your godfather, too. He did promise to go get a tree with you." 

"Ooh," Harry giggled excitedly. "You're right, we're supposed to go fell a tree!" 

Barty trailed behind while Harry skipped away towards wherever Sirius had fallen asleep yesterday and congratulated himself on a crisis averted. 

Now he only had to think of a way to connect Petunia to the diary permanently… A _ gemino _ charm, maybe? He'd probably also have to restore her mouth at some point or she'd starve. Maybe he could have the house elves magic food directly into her stomach? Nutrient potions through a tube inserted into the nose? He'd heard that muggles did it that way. 

-o-

It was evening before Harry and Sirius returned from the grounds, a huge monstrosity of a pine tree levitating behind them. Barty crossed his arms. 

"And how on earth is this supposed to fit into the sitting room, Sirius?" 

"Harry wanted _ this _one," Sirius defended himself with a guilty expression. "And anyway, we can shrink it, can't we?" 

Barty watched him take off his dragonhide gloves and hat before he loosened the haphazard bun he'd piled his black looks into. 

"I suppose we can," Barty shrugged and led Sirius, Harry and the decidedly oversized tree into the sitting room.

There were two steaming mugs of hot cocoa already waiting for the two adventurers and Barty watched them pile into a settee together. 

"I'm going to have dinner with great-uncle Arcturus today," Harry told them after the two had gotten warm. "He promised to tell me more about my grandmother and grandfather. Can we put up the tree tomorrow?" 

"Sure, Harry," Sirius replied and ruffled the boy's hair. "I do hope old Arcturus will recover quickly. Wizard flu in his age is nothing to scoff at… Don't forget to wear the protections, yes?" 

"Of course," Harry promised and left the room again. 

Barty sat down on Harry's vacated seat and Sirius grinned at him.

"So you really did it, didn't you? Sneaked right into Lucy's torture dungeon and snuck away with a dangerous magical artifact?" 

"I did, indeed, brave a torture dungeon while you were busy socialising," Barty teased him and watched Sirius splutter. 

"That was hardly, _ hardly_, my choice of evening entertainment," Sirius argued and crossed his arms. "All those ladies vying for my attention. You should have seen them hanging off of me, I could hardly get them to stop touching my arms and chest and everything. I would have preferred to go on an adventure with you." 

"There is a severe lack of eligible bachelors in our age bracket," Barty reminded him. "Aunt Cassie warned you." 

"_Aunt Cassie _left me to fend for myself to gossip with the other old biddies," Sirius grouched. "Besides, I mean, some of the ladies were quite pretty, I guess, and there were a couple dalliances during Hogwarts but, well, not a big ladies' man, me. But you can't very well tell them that or I'll be confirmed bachelor Sirius Orion Black forever!" 

"Wouldn't want to read that in the Prophet all the time, of course," Barty agreed. "Then again, you can only stay single for so long until rumours start spreading. By the way, there were ladies flirting with me, too, you know? Well, with Alfred Hornby, to be precise. Madelyn Parkinson called me _ exotic _ for being from South Africa." 

"That's precisely what men want to hear, isn't it?" Sirius ran his fingers through his long hair and sat cross-legged on the settee, looking at Barty with a warm smile. "Next time, you'll just stick with me from the beginning. I guess that Dark Lord of yours didn't hide more of his treasures where you could just sneak off during a party and get it, right?" 

"Let's hope not," Barty shuddered. "One is with the Lestranges. He gave it to your cousin Bellatrix but since she's in Azkaban, well. We'd have to get close to Lord Lestrange, somehow, but his niece was very cold towards me yesterday." 

"That reminds me," Sirius started and frowned. "Aunt Cassie told me that some of the more traditional Purebloods have begun talking about Harry. Since he's a halfblood, they are of the opinion that he doesn't really deserve the Potter lordship, I guess?" 

"Just a question of time, really," Barty shrugged. "What did she tell them in response?" 

"You'll love this," Sirius grinned. "She told them that I plan on making Harry the Black heir, too, once I become Lord Black." 

"Well… Guess they didn't much like that." 

"They did, indeed, not." 

They both chuckled a little at that and Barty decided to trust Sirius a little more. 

"About the artifact I got… I need your help." 

"Oh? In what way?" 

"I need to use the _ gemino _ charm to power it. You used that to communicate with your friends in school, didn't you? The rat told my master about it and while he didn't have time to use it because he got destroyed, oh, about a week later, I still remember it." 

"Useful piece of magic, that," Sirius agreed. "My old communication mirrors should still be in Grimmauld Place, I guess. We used those to talk while one or more of us were in detention. Drove old Minnie crazy, of course. They could never figure out how we were communicating." 

Barty let Sirius reminisce for a moment and watched fondly as the man's eyes crinkled with nostalgic mirth. 

"Do you think the _ gemino _ charm can link two pieces of, hm, let's say metal, together in such a way that one can transfer something to the other in a continuous way?" Sirius was frowning at him in confusion, so Barty tried to think of an example. "Let's say one piece of metal is in a bowl of... water and the other is in an, uh, in a flowerpot. Could I use the charm to feed water into the flowerpot so my plant doesn't die?" 

"That's very specific," Sirius said slowly. "Let me think back on those arithmancy classes Remus had us take." 

While Sirius was thinking, Barty made sure that the diary was still in his inside pocket and he was probably imagining things but it felt warm to his touch. 

"No, I guess that should work, on principle," Sirius finally said. "I wouldn't use metal, though. At least not just a random piece of it. You should use a kind of straw, something that's hollow on the inside, and charm it so that it transfers its contents into the other straw thing periodically." 

Barty's brows rose and he grinned at Sirius. 

"Not only handsome, but smart, too," Barty complimented him and grinned even wider when Sirius honestly started blushing. "No need to be bashful, Sirius, that's _ brilliant._ I'll use that, thanks." 

"I'm glad whenever I can help you, Barty," Sirius replied with a sincere, if slightly sad, smile. "I really am. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you and Harry. Who knows if Azkaban would have claimed me by now? I was hanging on by a thread when those two aurors pulled me out of my cell last year. I've never cried so hard in my life as when they told me that I was _ finally _ getting a trial."

Barty ducked his head a little. 

"It's what Harry wanted, above all, and I… did enjoy your company in that dead and dreary place, so I went along easily. I must say, I've never regretted any decision less in my life." 

Sirius got up at that and held his hand out to Barty. He took it and was pulled upright and into Sirius' arms. It was warm and comfortable and Sirius smelled like the pine tree he'd felled and the crackling fire he'd slept in front of. 

"You saved me and Harry both, Barty," Sirius repeated and pulled him a little closer. "The Blacks never forget something like that. Ever. I'm with you till the end, I promise." 

Barty hid his face against Sirius' chest because that much sincerity made him blush and maybe a little uncomfortable? It was nice to be trusted, in any case, and his head certainly fit very well under Sirius' chin. 

"I'm glad you decided to be on our side, Sirius. I don't know what we would have done without you and the support of the Black family." 

"Yeah, well, you'll have it as long as you want it," Sirius promised. "Technically, you're a part of it too and– wait you're not crying, are you? I'm no good at consoling people, Lily always said so." 

"Not crying," Barty replied and noticed why Sirius must have asked in the same breath. "Just, just shaking a little. Guess I'm… not used to physical contact anymore. I haven't hugged anyone but Harry in almost a decade." 

"Do you want me to let go?" 

"Please don't." 

Sirius chuckled and Barty could actually feel that through where their chests touched. He clung a little tighter to him and refused to feel self-conscious about the way his hands were still shaking a little where they were fisted into Sirius' robes. 

-o-

After a dinner with Sirius in companionable silence, sitting so close to each other that their thighs touched, Barty had returned to his room with a pleasant buzz dancing under his skin. 

He sat down at his desk and took two used quill nibs into his hand. Both were quickly transfigured into tiny, hollow tubes and he placed one of them between the pages of the diary and spelled it stuck. 

_ Master? I have the squib in my possession. Is the blood you got from her today sufficient to show me what you wanted to show me? Otherwise, I will work on the arithmancy to implement my plan to continuously drain her. _

_ It will suffice for now. Hold tight. _

The world seemed to swirl around him for a second and it felt like a pensieve and a portkey combined. In short, not a pretty feeling. 

Barty landed hard on his knees and held his head to combat the vertigo that was not helping his hangover at all. When he saw shoes in front of him, though, he quickly looked up and into the curious face of a young, handsome Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

"So this is what you look like," Tom wondered in a sophisticated voice that sounded so foreign and yet so familiar. 

Instead of answering, Barty simply stayed on his knees, shuffled a few feet forwards and placed a kiss on the hems of his master's robes. He didn't know what to say, so he just kept quiet with his forehead pressed against the fabric. 

"Get up, Barty," Tom commanded and Barty did just that. "Does my future self ask that of my followers? To debase themselves in front of me like that?" 

"Yes," he answered and dared to look into his master's eyes. "I'd guess many don't particularly like it but personally, I… I enjoy showing you my adoration like this." 

Tom simply looked at him and Barty thought how it was weird that they were about the same height now. This form of his master still had some growing left to do. 

"Take off your ring, Barty, I'm afraid my powers are not yet strong enough to keep you here for long." 

Barty immediately obeyed. As soon as the ring was off, Tom took hold of both sides of his head, locked eyes with him and whispered: "_Legilimens_." 

Tom wasn't quite as proficient at reading minds as Lord Voldemort had been at the height of his power, so it hurt to have his mind invaded like this. To combat the pain, Barty thought of every memory Tom might find useful to bring it to the forefront of his thoughts and in no time at all, his head was swimming with so many fast-changing images, he couldn't keep track of them anymore. 

After what felt like half an eternity, Tom seemed satisfied and released him. Barty stumbled back and would have fallen, but his upper arm was grabbed in time and Tom's forehead was wrinkled in what looked like pity? 

"I was greedy. I'm sorry, Barty," he apologised immediately. "You are indeed loyal beyond measure and while I don't condone a lot of the things my older self has done from what I've seen in your mind, trusting you was one of his better decisions."

"Thank you, master," Barty replied in a shaky voice and ran his hand over his face. It came back bloody. 

"I'm afraid you've sustained a nosebleed," Tom told him and sounded genuinely contrite. "I have many questions about what I've seen but my power is depleting fast. Please, Barty, implement the _ gemino _charm quickly. It should work like you intend it to, but leave the arithmancy to me. Keep working on the ritual to restore my master soul." 

"You can do arithmancy in here?" 

"I can do little else but think," Tom replied with a hint of sadness about him. "The least I can do is be of assistance to you and yours."

"Wait, what did you think about Harry?" 

By then, his surroundings were starting to flicker and lose shape. It was the first time he noticed that they were in some random Hogwarts corridor. Seventh floor, maybe? 

"He's perfect, in every way," Tom replied solemnly. "You made all the right choices, Barty, and I will help you reap your deserved reward." 

"I don't need a reward," Barty said, desperately. "I only need you!" 

But then, the corridor vanished around him and they were floating in nothing. It suddenly felt like a hand grabbed the back of his head and pulled him and he was back in his chair in the blink of an eye. 

The front of his robes was speckled with blood and his nose was still steadily dripping. Barty half-heartedly conjured a towel and held it under his nostrils. 

_ I truly am sorry, Barty. I shall be more gentle, next time. You see, your mind is fractured and there are many secrets hidden by my older self. Your quest to find me was but one of many. I will help you with the others. _

_ Thank you, my lord. I think I will retire now. _

_ Use essence of dittany. One drop under each nostril. Cantankerous used to have frequent nosebleeds so I know a thing or two about them. _

_ Is that why he's such a good occlumens? _

_ You can't tell, but I'm smiling proudly at your deductive skills right now. Sleep well. _

Barty shut the diary with a sigh and wondered about how the younger version of his master seemed so much nicer and simultaneously even more dangerous than Lord Voldemort.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would I title chapters, this one would be called "A Long Overdue Meeting"

> Christmas had come with coziness and comfort and left with loss. Old Pollux Black had died on Christmas Eve and the rest of the Black family and quite a few other Purebloods were braving the cold weather of December 27th to say goodbye. 

His son Cygnus was distraught and Cygnus' wife Druella, née Rosier, was comforting him while he wept over the coffin. 

His granddaughters Narcissa and Andromeda reconciled over his grave and his nephew Sirius quietly promised the latter to reinstate her into the family once he'd become Lord.

While Andromeda and Sirius were hugging it out, Harry and Barty were not far, consoling a quietly crying Cassiopeia who'd lost a brother. 

Draco was with his father and kept glancing at his mother. Barty supposed that he must have grown up on tales of Andromeda being a blood-traitor, so seeing his mother share tearful hugs with her renegade sister must have confused him greatly. 

Then again, death did that to people. 

After a short but tasteful ceremony, Pollux was entombed in the Black family crypt and the whole funeral party trekked back towards Black manor where a feast had been prepared. 

It was the first time in years that Black manor was so open and Barty and Sirius had spent two evenings fortifying all doors leading out of the designated parlour to avoid having people wandering the halls. 

Since Arcturus was still bedridden with wizard flu, Sirius was doing the honours of addressing the party. 

"On behalf of the Black family, I thank you all for coming. With Pollux' death, we have lost a great wizard and a good man. Please remember him as he was in life– brash, confident and perpetually in good spirits." The guests were listening to Sirius, some of them with teary eyes. "Use this feast not to cry about him but to share what happy memories you have. _ Toujours Pur._" 

There was an answering chorus of the family motto and the party disbanded into little groups. 

Almost immediately, some people thought it was a good idea to swoop down on Harry. Fortunately, Barty had become very good at being a meat shield and positioned himself in front of the boy. 

"My, you poor thing," Druella Rosier cooed at Harry. "Getting to know your grandmother's brother only to have him taken away again so soon." 

"Thank you for your concern, aunt Druella," Harry replied evenly, ever the little gentleman. "I'm sure it's hard for you also to have lost your father-in-law, and on Christmas Eve, too." 

"I do suppose we share the same burden," Druella agreed with a shrewd expression. "But your godfather is right, we should think of happy things! Now what's this I hear about dear Sirius planning to name you his heir? Two Lordships and one little boy, just imagine!" 

She laughed but Barty felt a tingle of dread rising up his back. The hounds were closing in. 

"Oh, yes," Harry shrugged with a small smile. "You know, I do consider it an honour that Sirius deems me worthy but he's young, too. I'm sure he'll change his mind should he have children of his own and I won't mind, of course." 

Clever boy, Barty thought proudly and Druella seemed momentarily mollified. 

"Oh, but of course! I do think it's high time for him to choose a lovely young lady to have lovely little Pureblood children with." If any slight towards Harry was implied, she sure was good at masking it. "It's been so long since little Draco was a baby and we all loved doting on him so." 

Barty saw Draco's ears go flaming red where he was standing between his parents only a couple feet away. 

Whether Harry thought Sirius was ever going to have a proper Pureblood marriage with proper Pureblood babies or not, a distraction like this had been a good idea because Druella was off like a rocket. Presumably to introduce lots of perfect Pureblood women to perfect Pureblood Sirius once again. 

"Family is exhausting, Alfy," Harry whispered to him and Barty snorted. 

"No truer words have ever been spoken. Come on let's go find Lord Nott and Theo. I think I saw them over by the buffet." 

They were indeed still at the buffet and Theo's face lit up when he saw them approaching. 

"Hullo Harry, Mr. Hornby," he greeted them. "My condolences about your great-uncle, Harry." 

"Thanks, Theo," Harry replied with a sad smile and tried to change the subject. "I hope you had a nice Christmas?" 

"I did, I did, father finally relented and got me my own broom!" 

"Oh but that's brilliant, thank you Lord Nott! We'll join the Quidditch team together in second year, what do you think? We'll get Draco to join, too, and then we can all be Chasers together and score so many points that the Seekers can't find the Snitch fast enough!"

Upon hearing the word Quidditch, Draco mysteriously materialised beside them and the three boys were off talking tactics. 

"I can't keep him locked inside a padded room forever," Lord Nott sighed when the boys were out of earshot. "He's all the family I have left, and I can't bear the thought of anything happening to him, Mr. Hornby." 

"I understand," Barty replied solemnly. "I really do. If anything were to happen to Harry… let's just be thankful those boys will have each others' backs at Hogwarts." 

-o-

After the feast, the house elves reported that no suspicious behaviour had taken place outside the parlour and Barty allowed himself a sigh of relief.

As he retired to his room, he started idly leafing through the diary like he'd often done during the last couple of days. His master hadn't answered since Barty had been inside the diary and he hoped it was only because of the arithmancy needed to use the _ gemino _ charm correctly. 

_ I can hear you overthinking things from inside here, Barty. _

That certainly didn't get any less creepy with time. Barty quickly made his way over to the desk and centred himself for a moment before answering. 

_ Welcome back, my Lord. Were you successful? _

_ I was, indeed. You're going to combine the Protean Charm with the Gemino Charm and use a modified version of the Tempus charm to time the transferral of the blood from one cylinder to the other. Have you placed it yet? _

_ Not yet master. I'll do so after the charm is placed. I'll stun her before so she'll be none the wiser, and since the house elves are taking well-enough care of her that she won't die before you have drained her completely, you can store her strength in peace. _

_ Very good. Go to the last pages of the diary, my friend. There, I have collected the formulas for you. _

And what a beautiful piece of spellcrafting it was, Barty thought, when he studied his master's work. So brilliant, and only 16 years old. It was a shame he'd grown… unhinged from making all the horcruxes. 

But he was going to put him to rights again and show the world what a sane Lord Voldemort was capable of. And he would have his master's younger self to help! Would the other horcruxes have personalities, too? He sure hoped not because, truth be told, there was only so many masters one could serve… 

After having cast the spell sequence on both Petunia and the diary, Barty could have sworn he saw life returning to the formerly withered pages. After half a day, it looked like it must have looked close to its glory days. 

_ It looks like it worked, my lord. Can you feel a difference? _

_ Yes. For a squib, she's quite strong, magically. I saw her sister in your memories, Lily Evans? She was quite the formidable witch, I dare say. Shame she was but a muggleborn. But the boy… his accidental magic alone is strong. I do wonder how he will fare in school. Will you give me reports? _

_ Maybe he'll be able to tell you himself once you're whole again. _

_ I'd like that. _

_ After all, I believe your consciousness will probably transfer over to your main soul as well. _

The pause was just the slightest bit longer than usual before he received a reply. 

_ Yes. It probably will. We shall see. When are you going to get more of my horcruxes? _

_ I believe I should be quick about it so that they're all together and ready for the ritual. With your help, I might stand a chance to finish this before I'm old and grey. Sirius is useless at rituals and while Cassiopeia tried helping, she was never as much of a savant at arithmancy as you were. _

_ Or you, Barty. You haven't asked Cantankerous or any other of my old followers either, why is that? _

_ You haven't told any of them about your horcruxes. _

_ So you chose new people to ask who you vetted yourself. I see. _

_ Can you come here, too? Like I came to your realm? To look at my findings, I mean. Otherwise I'll copy the formulas and everything into here. _

A pause in the replies again. 

_ I might, but a squib wouldn't last long if I tried. _

_ Shame I killed wolfy already. If anyone else dares lay a finger on Harry, you'll be the first to know. _

_ Much appreciated. _

Barty put the diary back into an inside pocket of his robes and made his way to the library. It was time for some more plotting.

Which horcrux should he get next? The Lestrange one was out of the question for now and he vaguely wondered when the memory of this one had returned because he rather thought that he hadn't known about it in the beginning? 

Come to think of it, the memory of the diary hadn't been there, either. He wondered what had unlocked them and briefly questioned what else was hidden in his mind, like Tom had hinted at. A particularly brilliant arithmancy formula he'd written down half-asleep yesterday caught his eye at that moment and while he was working through his own thought processes again, he quite forgot what it was he had been thinking about. 

-o-

About two weeks later, Barty's preparations to retrieve the Gaunt ring from Little Hangleton were complete. Unfortunately, the Tom Riddle immortalised in the diary was yet to travel there himself, so Barty was going in blind. 

He wondered whether he was going to have visions of his master again and trembled in fear as much as anticipation.

"And you're really sure you should be going alone, Barty?" 

It was probably about the sixth time Sirius had asked but felt more like the hundreth. 

"How many times, Sirius? If I die, Harry still has you. If we both die, the hounds close in. There's no way I'll allow this to happen." 

"But why are you so sure that you might die? You weren't this… this _ scared _ when you went into the bloody torture dungeon." 

Barty heaved a sigh. "That's because the torture dungeon was already heavily fortified by being in a very old, reclusive manor and very much hidden away on top of that! We've been over this, Sirius." 

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to sit back and relax while you go risk your life. I'm coming with you, and that's final." Sirius crossed his arms– never a good sign, that. 

"Alright," Barty grumbled, "but it's on _ your _ head and _ you _ have to be the one to tell Harry that you're risking both our lives." 

"The only life I'm risking is my own, thank you very much," Sirius grouched back at him. 

In the end, Harry was actually happy about Sirius accompanying him. 

"You can keep an eye on each other that way," Harry shrugged. "That way, you won't get reckless. I do wish I could come with you, too. Could I maybe–" 

"No, nope, absolutely not," Sirius interrupted him. "Absolutely no way are you going anywhere close to something the Dark Lord _ might _ have booby trapped. I am exerting my right as your godfather and magical guardian. You can look at it once we're back but you're not coming with us." 

"Barty is going to have me get the one that's hidden in Hogwarts," Harry argued and Barty felt all colour drain from his face when Sirius rounded on him. 

"You what!?" 

"Look, Sirius, that one is _ perfectly _ safe. Also, since Harry is… linked to Voldemort, it shouldn't affect him overly much if it _ isn't _100% safe. I'm also still considering alternatives to that approach, I haven't told him where it is," Barty quickly added when Sirius gaze stayed quietly murderous. 

"Linked? Linked how? Look, Barty, we're going to retrieve the heirloom now and when we get home, you have some _ explaining _ to do." Sirius' gaze turned even more piercing (and he quite reminded Barty of Cassiopeia in this moment.) "I have also learned some things via Gabby and Tilly about a guest in our cellars?" 

"Those no-good house elves," Barty grumbled and crossed his arms. "Alright, alright. When we come back, I'll spill the beans on what exactly we're dealing with here. He's quite proven himself, hasn't he, Harry?" 

"Oh, definitely! And can't I at least come with you to the outskirts of–" 

"No!", Sirius and Barty interjected in unison and Harry hung his head. 

"I get it… I'll just wait here and hope that the two dearest people in my life will come back in one piece," Harry lamented with a downcast look and Sirius broke easily. 

"Barty, can't we maybe bring him with us after all?" Sirius looked unsure and grinned a little when Harry looked up with a hopeful expression. "I'm sure he won't get in the way, he's a good boy and he can stay away from the action. It surely wouldn't be booby trapped for miles around, right?" 

Barty eyed the two of them for a moment before wordlessly grabbing his broom and walking over to the sunroom. 

"You have just revoked your adventure card, Sirius. This is no mission for a child. I love you both, but I'm doing this alone. Don't know what I was thinking in the first place, taking a reckless Gryffindor along." He swung a leg over his broom after opening one of the huge windows and looked back at Harry and Sirius again. "I should be back by nightfall. Keep an eye on Harry, Sirius, and don't try to follow me." 

"Wait," Harry and Sirius, who both didn't have their brooms with them, shouted after him but by then, he was already out the window and accelerating as fast as the broom allowed. 

Liabilities, ugh. He couldn't afford to lose either of them to a stupid wayward curse or whatever. They'd probably be mad at him for just leaving like that but it had been his plan all along. And after all - here, he put a hand over the diary in his robes - he wasn't truly alone.

The flight to Little Hangleton was long and tedious but while a nagging feeling in his brain told him that he'd been there before with Lord Voldemort, he wasn't going to risk splinching himself on a hunch. 

-o-

The low stone hut looked decrepit but even in its heyday it must have been a life of squalor. Maybe it had been for the best that his master had grown up in an orphanage as opposed to this?

Well, neither scenario seemed appropriate for a child if he was being honest with himself. Not for the first time, he felt a twinge of longing for the possibility of having taken 6-year-old Tom away like he did with Harry. 

No use. He was going to make the best of it now. 

Even from this far away, the Gaunt Shack sang with Dark magic and the hairs on Barty's arms and neck were standing up with the force of it. He resigned himself to a long afternoon. 

But first, he walked as close as he would dare and waited for the vertigo.

Nothing.

Seemed like his master had expected him to be good enough at countercurses to make it on his own. With that comforting thought, Barty started casting. 

About half an hour later, he dared open the door and sighed in relief when nothing happened. It really paid off to have a thorough teacher.

The inside of the shack was as miserable as the outside had been and Barty followed an invisible pull towards a particular spot on the floor where the floorboards hung a little lower than the rest. He cast an array of diagnostic charms in the general direction but everything came up negative. But because he hadn't survived until now by _ not _ being a paranoid bastard, he spent a solid few minutes chanting countercurses anyway. 

With shaking fingers, he finally pried open the floorboards and found a simple, unadorned wooden box. When he opened it, he was confronted with the most peculiar ring he'd ever laid eyes on. 

While not all that dissimilar to other lord rings, this one seemed to reflect the hazy January sunlight filtering in through the empty windows just a bit more beautifully than should be natural. 

Barty, who would never have a lord ring of his own, wondered what it might look like on his hand… 

He had it hovering close to his fingertip already when he was suddenly tackled to the side and crashed into an old shelf that broke under the onslaught. Old mason jars full of questionable things rained down on him and Barty groaned in pain. 

When he looked up, he froze. It was Tom. 

"You _ mustn't _wear it," the young man pleaded and kneeled in front of him. "You mustn't. It has a particularly strong compulsion charm on it, but you have to be stronger. Cast against it, I urge you!" 

"Yes, my lord," fell from Barty's lips as if in trance. "_ Finite Incantatem._" 

The good thing about compulsion charms was that, being mere charms, they were easy to break. The bad thing was that you were under their sway so fast that you weren't able to use even the easiest counterspell in time. 

But all that was forgotten because—

"You can't be here, it's too much exertion," Barty argued, eyes wide. 

"Can't lose you, can I?" Tom asked and smiled that handsome smile of his that was so different from the cruel one Lord Voldemort used to wear like a mask from time to time. "I would offer you a hand, but being corporeal enough to tackle you has drained most of the power I have collected thus far." 

Tom looked around curiously while Barty hoisted himself up off the floor and put the ring back into its wooden box with trembling fingers. 

"So this is where my mother grew up, is it? What squalor," Tom tutted. "I can see why our roots angered my other self so. I find myself… relieved, instead, that I did not grow up here, too. What a ghastly caveman I might have become." 

"I wish I could have taken care of you like I did with Harry," Barty blurted out and reached out with a shaking hand. It stopped before it would touch (go through) the ghostly form of Tom Riddle and fell limply to his side again. 

"Such devotion," Tom said and laughed good-naturedly. 

Hearing that high, bell-like laugh for the first time, unmarred by the Dark rituals his Lord had undergone in time, was like finally seeing the first flowers and birds of spring arrive after a long, hard winter. 

"Always, my lord," Barty whispered reverently. 

"I know," Tom replied with a solemn look. "Before you take my horcrux twin with you, don't forget the curse that is still imbued in the ring. You have only broken the compulsion." 

"Oh… I see. You should… probably return before you use up all your strength. I've got it from here and, uh, thank you." 

"You're welcome," Tom replied and vanished with a wink. 

-o-

When Barty returned home that afternoon, Harry and Sirius were waiting for him. They looked like they wanted to glare at him but relief clearly won out as he was hugged first by one and then the other. 

"You mustn't pull something like this ever again, Barty," Harry demanded. "At least take Sirius with you next time. I won't ask to come with again, I promise."

"Don't be distraught, Harry," Barty lied effortlessly. "Everything went according to plan and we're one horcrux richer. Three done, three to go!" 

"Wait what." 

Barty looked over towards Sirius whose face was carefully blank. 

"Horcruxes? He made _ horcruxes_? _ Plural_?" Sirius paused and his gaze turned calculating. He'd never looked as tall and imposing as he did right now and Barty cursed his indiscretion around the man. "I should have damn well known, shouldn't I? Right. The diary. The ring from today. What's the third?" 

Barty couldn't help but flick his gaze over to Harry momentarily and Sirius noticed. First, he frowned, but then his eyes widened almost comically. 

"No," he simply whispered and looked at the two of them. "Are you telling me, Barty, that my godson has been made into a horcrux by Lord _ fucking _ Voldemort while at the height of his insane raging powertrip?" 

"I'm, look Sirius, I didn't know at first but when I found out, I knew it was a sign," Barty argued, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "He's the last puzzle piece– together with the main soul, there are seven parts, and I'm going to combine all of them except the part residing in Harry and when he comes back, he will be sane once more because his soul is restored!" 

"You know, guys, I would very much like to ground both of you for the foreseeable future," here, Sirius heaved a great sigh, "but, knowing you as well as I do, you'd just run away if I didn't support you so I'm going to do the sensible thing." 

"Oh?" Barty, who'd quite readied himself for a verbal ass-whopping, relaxed slightly. 

"I'm so glad you saw reason, Sirius," Harry grinned, clapping and jumping on the spot. "What's the sensible thing?" 

"Right. You know my uncle Alphard, who left me quite the tidy sum upon his demise? He told me about horcruxes when he was still alive. Told me the knowledge has been passed down our family for generations upon generations, actually. Herpo the Foul, the guy who invented the whole thing? Yeah, well, apparently, his daughter married a Black, so…" Sirius struggled a little for words here. "I have… that is, Uncle Alphard left me not only money but also a couple heirlooms. You have to keep this between us but… among them is a collection of notes of one Herpo the Foul." 

Barty was half afraid his jaw might unhinge like that of a snake judging by the force of it snapping open. He spared a half-thought on whether his lord might like him more after that but he quickly realised that his mind was compartmentalising because those notes might contain answers to questions he hadn't even dreamed of asking yet! 

When Harry gently elbowed him in the side, Barty snapped out of it. 

"Sorry, I… was lost in thought there, I guess. Sirius, that… I'm, wow, I don't even know what to say!" 

"Ah, don't worry about it," Sirius shrugged. "I'm in this with you guys, I told you, so I expect to be included in the decisions from now on, alright? If we bring him back, I want him to be as sane as we can possibly make him." 

Harry and Barty nodded enthusiastically and shared conspiratorial grins while Sirius merely rolled his eyes at their antics. 

-o-

After Sirius had returned from his personal Gringotts Vault with an ancient pile of haphazardly stacked together rolls of parchment crackling with the magic of centuries of conservation spells, Barty felt his fingers itch to taketaketake but Sirius held them out of his reach. 

"Two conditions, Barty. One, you will not spend significantly more time in the library than you already do, meaning no missed breakfasts, lunches, dinners or lesson" Reasonable, Barty supposed, so he nodded warily. "Second, and don't think I haven't noticed, you're going to tell me just what is up with that horcrux diary you always have on your person. Is it… Did it take possession of you or something?" 

"I'm not much different than I normally am, am I?" Barty asked, suddenly unsure and peering down vaguely at where the diary rested. 

"Not particularly, no. Just, well, more secretive, I guess? Only about the diary, though, and I know you too well by now. You can't hide something like that from me." 

"Guess I can't," Barty agreed with a wry smile and took the diary out of his pocket to show Sirius again. "This is the first horcrux my Lord Voldemort made. It was while he was still in school and… his 16-year-old self is preserved in this. You can communicate with him via writing and, uh, other means." 

"This sounds very much like my specialty, actually," Sirius replied slowly, surprise written clearly on his face. "Back in school, we had a map, me and James and the others, it showed you where everyone was in the school at all times, in real time. We called it the Marauder's map and you could communicate with our younger selves." 

Barty felt his brain screech to a stop. "You didn't kill anyone for it, did you? Did you… did you guys make a horcrux just to be able to spy on people!?"

"What? No! We used runes and stuff and the same enchantments used to make the portraits remember their past lives. That's why none of us can ever get a portrait made, actually. You only get one chance, and ours is the map." Sirius took the diary from Barty and tapped it with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good." 

Nothing happened. 

"Uh, Sirius, what did you…" 

"Look, it was worth a try. How do you communicate with it? Do you have to write in it?" 

"Yes. Maybe… maybe you should talk to him. That way, your last doubts will be dispelled about why I need him back," Barty realised. "He knows about you, I let him read my mind." 

"You let a– are you suggesting that you let a questionable magical artifact of the Darkest magic you could possibly conceive of intrude into your _ mind_!?" 

"What's left of it anyway," Barty shrugged, feeling ever more the naughty school boy. "He likes me, he's always liked me, he would never hurt me! Just, go talk to him, you'll see how he used to be." 

"And he won't possess me with some Dark mumbojumbo either?" 

"He knows you're a crucial part of everything Sirius," Barty promised. "I'll have another errand to run in Knockturn Alley, I need a magical safe of the highest quality for the horcruxes. Here, take the ring too. I don't want them to leave the house. I'll be back soon." 

"And you want me to talk to the diary while you're gone?" Sirius looked dubious at that prospect. 

"Oh do lighten up, Sirius, you won't regret it," Barty grinned. "There are no compulsion charms whatsoever on it, so if you feel weirded out, you can just close it again." 

"If you're sure… yeah, well, why not. See you later, Barty. Be back in time for dinner!" 

"I always am," Barty called over his shoulder and walked towards the Floo. 

-o-

Harry chanced another surreptitious look at the great clock hanging over the fireplace. It read 7pm and started chiming that moment. 

"Well, maybe he just forgot the time," Sirius said lamely. 

"He doesn't miss dinner," Harry argued, irritation scratching at the back of his head. "Something's happened, Sirius, something bad." 

Harry watched Sirius cross his arms and frown. "I don't like it as much as you, Harry, but we don't know where exactly he went. Walking into Knockturn Alley at night is _ not _ a good idea for the heir of a Wizengamot Lord." 

"I can't just go to sleep, Sirius," Harry pleaded, not quite knowing how to voice his concern in a tangible manner. 

"If he isn't back by the morning, we'll contact the aurors, alright? They'd only laugh at us if we contacted them now." Sirius ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm really, really sorry, Harry but there's nothing we can do at the moment. Barty's a big boy. I'm sure that wherever he is, he's perfectly fine." 

Harry sighed in defeat and nodded weakly. "I hope you're right, Sirius." 

-o-

By afternoon the next day, Barty still hadn't returned, so Sirius took the Floo to the ministry to make a report at the DMLE.

While he was gone, Harry crept into the man's study, grabbed the diary from a hidden drawer he'd known about for _ ages _ and dashed back to his room with a wildly thumping heart. 

He quickly pushed a little Runes project currently occupying his desk to the side and screwed open his ink pot.

_ Tom? Is that you in here? _

_ Oh? I haven't seen your handwriting before. And who might you be? _

_ It's Harry, Harry Potter. I need your help! _

_ My, I've been dying to meet you. Barty told me so much about you. What can I help you with, my young friend? _

_ Barty's gone and I need your help to find him! He went to Knockturn Alley yesterday evening and he hasn't returned. _

_ Well, vanishing without a trace is not like him, you're quite right. Alright, here's what I need you to gather… _

Harry watched the elegant handwriting list down what they needed and felt his terror upon having lost his mentor recede slowly. He was in good hands now, and they were going to find him. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I'll be able to make next week's update but I'll try! <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Content warning for canon-typical violence :>

**Saturday**

Knockturn Alley was still as dark and grimy as the last few times Barty had been there and he was sure that in this life, it wouldn't change. While considering where to get a safe that would preferably stun and bind any would-be intruders while simultaneously alerting him, he noticed a movement to his left. 

As he spun around, he felt relief wash over him when he realised it was only another shopper keeping to the sides of the alley. Always a good idea, that. No good to be out in the open. 

Having made up his mind on where to go, he started walking in the direction of a second hand magical furniture shop that might have what he needed in stock. 

But because he was tired after retrieving the horcrux and meeting Tom and still excited over getting to read Herpo's diary, he saw the red light coming his way from an even dingier side alley a fraction of a second too late. He had just enough time to think of a very creative swear when darkness swallowed him. 

-o-

**Sunday**

Decked out with their old scrying set, Barty's favourite blue-silver scarf and some incense, Harry made himself comfortable on the ground. 

He'd already filled the ritual bowl with water from a stream outside and gently placed the milky white crystal made of moonstone into it. It bobbed up and down a little and Harry waited patiently until the water was calm again. 

Next, he placed Barty's scarf around the ceramic bowl and opened the diary. 

_ Everything is in position, Tom. And you're sure it can't be traced? _

_ Only wanded magic wrought by minors can be traced. This will be written off as accidental magic if anyone notices it at all. _

_ Alright. But why don't the aurors use scrying if it's so useful? _

_ You need at least a passing sense of the Sight for it to work and most people don't really believe in it. Aurors are taught never to rely on Divination. _

_ I once stopped some aurors from prosecuting Barty for using a Dark curse in the ministry just by giving the leader an autograph for his daughter. My opinion of them is not the best. _

_ Still as corrupt and self-serving as they were in my day. The aurors can't be trusted with a task as important as this, so we'll have to take matters into our own hands. _

_ We will! I'll do the ritual now. _

_ Good luck, young friend. _

Harry put the diary to his right, still open, and lit the incense with a match left over from Christmas. As he breathed in the scent of pines and sandalwood, he let his thoughts circle around his mentor like Barty had shown him during their search for Pettigrew. 

He felt a bit of a glow thrumming under his skin and concentrated on that feeling, let it flow from his middle into his fingers and toes and back again. Thus lost in the new sensation, Harry concentrated on his breathing until it was so calm that he didn't need to think on it anymore. 

When he opened his eyes again, he looked down at the bowl and saw the water begin to form ripples emanating from the crystal. He felt a thrill of excitement because _ this was proper magic _ but stopped it soon because now was not the time for childish awe! 

The milky crystal became translucent and seemed to merge with the water and Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. The water shimmered, shifted and then, he was seeing things that hadn't been there before. 

A white bird was softly swaying on a well-tended lawn, fluffing up its plumage and shrieking in a most peculiar way. Harry gasped when the scene swam before his eyes and he could see a grand manor materialising behind the bird. It was a peacock, he remembered now. Barty had pointed them out last time they had been at… oh. Malfoy Manor. 

But why…? 

_ I know where he is, Tom. He's at Malfoy Manor! _

_ Oh? A mere social call, then? _

_ He doesn't like the Malfoys much. Maybe he got stuck in the dungeons because he went back because he forgot something? But he would have told me or Sirius… _

_ We should go there. _

_ But I'm only ten! _

_ You carry part of me inside you, Harry. Together, we can do anything. _

Harry thought about that for a while. He liked Sirius a lot but while his younger self must have been adventurous and bold judging by some of the tales his godfather had told, this Sirius was more calm and level-headed. He'd probably find lots of arguments against little boys going there on their own and he wouldn't want to join him for fear of upsetting his relations with the powerful Malfoys for a mere hunch. 

_ You're right. Should I bring anything? _

_ That cloak of yours. Also, a wand. Can you get one? _

_ There's the old Black wands displayed in great-uncle Arcturus' study. I could get one of those. For Barty? _

_ Precisely. Maybe he lost his or it got destroyed somehow. _

Harry nodded to himself, hid the scrying set in a chest of drawers and got out his invisibility cloak. He packed it into his favourite bag that looked like a big snitch and made his way over to Arcturus' study. Thankfully, neither his great-uncle nor Miss Simmons, the medi-witch taking care of him these days, were inside. 

He didn't dare ponder long over which wand to pick and simply chose the one that once belonged to Phineas Nigellus Black because he was proud that his ancestor had been a headmaster. It joined the cloak and the diary in his snitch bag. Before he left the room, Harry's gaze fell on the drawer where Arcturus kept his writing utensils. He gnawed his lip a little because surely it wouldn't be stealing if he intended on giving it back and if he really, really needed it? 

-o-

**Saturday**

Coming to, Barty's first feeling was one of mortifying shame at the fact that he'd been stunned so easily. His next was of a darker nature when he noticed his surroundings. 

The torture dungeon. Not just any torture dungeon but _ the _ torture dungeon he'd been in not too long ago. And because this couldn't be a coincidence, he was even more wary than he would have been in any other hostage situation. 

"Look, brother, our little bird has woken up," he heard an unpleasant, female voice coo and immediately closed off his face. "Good morning, Mr. Hornby. Have a nice sleep?" 

"Just dreamy," Barty replied tonelessly and sat up a little only to notice that he was handcuffed to the bars on the side of the cell with manacles on both his wrists. 

Magic-binding manacles inscribed with powerful runes, probably made in South Africa. Bugger. 

"Now look here, mister, don't mouth off to my sister," a different, nasal voice commanded, this one decidedly male. 

Barty was having the worst kind of feeling in the pit of his stomach and looked up at his captors only to be confronted with the ugly mugs of Amycus and Alecto Carrow. Halfwits, recruited by his master in the Wizarding War because of their old name and sadistic nature. 

To have been caught by these _ idiots._

"Mister Hornby, we're going to ask you a couple questions now and you're going to answer them," Amycus told him in a conversational tone. "First off, do you know where you are?" 

"A dungeon somewhere? How should I know?" Barty replied calmly. "You have the wrong man, guys, I'm just a tutor. I swore a Vow not to reveal any personal secrets of my employers so if it's money or intel on the Black family you're after, I can't give you anything." 

"_Crucio_!" 

The pain slamming into his nerve endings was as unexpected as it was all-encompassing. Alecto had always been a deft hand at torturing people and Barty half thought that it might be a good idea to reveal himself if only to get them to stop. 

"Wrong answer," Amycus crowed and Alecto giggled wheezily in response and stopped the curse. "Last chance for immediate cooperation– do you know where you are?" 

They seemed to know _ something,_ at least, but Barty couldn't be sure of their allegiance. Somehow, Lucius had to be involved and he couldn't risk his identity coming out now. Not when they were so close already. 

He kept silent which seemed to infuriate his two captors more than his earlier show of ignorance. 

"_Fuck you,_ Crouch," Amycus suddenly shouted and Barty felt all colour drain from his face immediately. "Stop pretending to be dumber than you _ fucking _ are." 

"Haha, that got through to him, brother," Alecto chortled and Barty still couldn't wrap his head around–

They knew, they _ knew _ and they were still holding him captive! 

"Well congratulations," he pressed out, voice raw with unfocused anger, "now get me out of here and explain yourselves." 

"Not so brave without the Dark Lord to hold his hand over your pretty blonde head, are you?" Amycus had a disgustingly pitiful expression plastered on his face and Barty could taste bile in the back of his throat. "We were never sure what it was he saw in you. Now we know, of course." 

"You were his dog," Alecto grinned and she and her brother shared a meaningful glance between them. "Always so eager to please him and loyal as can be, even now that he's dead. I wonder– did you bring him his newspaper each morning? Lick his hand when he held it out to you? Maybe even lick his co—" 

"That's **enough**," Barty thundered, rage barely restrained by the wrought iron around his wrists. "You know as well as me that he's not dead!" 

"Ah, yes, which brings us to tonight's topic of conversation," Amycus purred and Barty noted down the fact that he hadn't been gone long, apparently. Tonight, so still the same day. When would anyone come looking for him? 

"You were here once to retrieve something," the revolting man continued. "We'd like it back, please, so that we may dispose of it." 

Could it be that they didn't know what exactly it was they were looking for? 

"I obviously don't have it with me," Barty answered easily because lying about it would only get him _ Crucio'_d more. 

"Figures," Amycus grumbled while Alecto pushed her unsightly face against the bars separating them. 

"He's lying, brother," she screeched and gods above, there was spittle flying on him. 

"Nah, he wouldn't have it on him," Amycus reiterated. "Which meeeans– we gotta tickle the location out of him." 

"It's probably somewhere in Black manor," Alecto whined. "Can't we just storm that place? There's only the old man, the blood traitor and the Halfblood brat anyway." 

"And like, tens of thousands of ages old wards? Don't be _ stupid_, Alecto." Amycus looked at Barty, considering. "First of all, I wanna see his real face. It's been almost a decade." 

Amycus used a curse to pop the collar of Barty's robes and roughly grabbed the talisman hanging on a fine silver necklace around his neck. A careless severing charm that drew a little blood separated the moonstone from the necklace and the blasted man carelessly threw Barty's second identity into a cell behind him. 

When the short rush of discomfort upon changing appearances had subsided, Barty felt surprisingly naked in front of his captors, now that he was wearing his own face. 

"Still look like he's barely outta diapers, don't you think, Amycus?" 

"I used to say and I stand by it: the Dark Lord liked 'em young– just like with Regulus." 

Barty felt his gaze darken upon the mention of Regulus and took a couple deep breaths so he wouldn't give them more ammunition than they already had. 

"And now you made yourself a cozy new home with the blood traitor and the brat who slayed your master, Crouch?" Amycus' smile was an evil little thing and he winked lasciviously at Barty. "Still earning your keep with that clever mouth of yours?" 

This was getting ridiculous. He shouldn't get so worked up about _ words _ these two halfwits managed to string together in a coherent sentence. He was better than that. Better than them. And once he'd resurrected his master, they were going to pay the price for their insolence. 

"Can we skip to the part where you actually ask me questions instead of trying to taunt me by calling me a gay hooker? Because that's getting really old really quick." 

"Still think you're something better, Crouch, don't you?" Amycus sneered. "Very well– what else is there? You took something from here, but there must be more. What is it?" 

So they did know something. Who? How? Who else knew? Regulus might have known but he was gone. Bellatrix? Well, she had the Cup but surely his master wouldn't have imparted the actual knowledge into someone as volatile as her? 

Abraxas… While cruel, he had also been smart as a whip with magical power to spare. Lucius was merely a shallow echo of the powerhouse Abraxas had been. Had he told someone before his passing? 

"I don't know about any others," Barty practically spat out. "I only learned about this object by accident and I… I wanted it as a reminder of my Lord Voldemort." 

Amycus flinched and Alecto hissed when he said his master's name and he felt a cruel sort of vindication bubbling up inside of him. 

"Nice try, Crouch." Amycus crossed his arms. "Unfortunately, we know what you did earlier today in Little Hangleton." 

Barty tried, he tried really hard, but he hadn't expected this so he made a bit of a face and Alecto pounced on it. 

"He knows, he knows, he _ knows,_ brother!" she crowed and Barty glared at her. 

"We know you know, Crouch, so out with it or we'll go and kill your precious Boy-Who-Lived." 

"Try it," Barty spat, "and you will suffer the same fate as the last one who tried it. That boy is stronger than you and whoever it is you're working for together!" 

"Struck a nerve there, haven't we? Look Crouch, the Halfblood Dark Lord being slain by a Halfblood brat is all you need to know about his worthiness," Amycus drawled. 

"So what? You have a new master now?" 

"Why yes, how nice of you to ask," Amycus answered with a smile that was a little too genial for comfort. "It's not like you're ever gonna meet him because obviously, this is the end of the line for you, but do please note that your precious Dark Lord is yesterday's news." 

"_My _Lord? Must I remind you that the mark on your arm proclaims your eternal servitude, Amycus Carrow?" 

"Ah yes, that… Well, it's been dormant long enough that most of us following the new order of things don't put much stock in it anymore," Amycus shrugged. "But you've always been so proud of yours, haven't you? You know, I've been told that you referred to the Dark Lord as your father during the last war. Got daddy issues, Crouch?" 

"Again with the gay jokes? I'm not telling you anything, Amycus," Barty replied guardedly. "So either do what it is you came here to do or let me go." 

"Oh, sooner or later, you're going to talk, Crouch. Make no mistake. We've got you entirely at our leisure here. Dear Lucius thinks we're sorting through his late father's more distasteful experiments and disposing of things in exchange for keeping anything rare we may find, so he's not going to bother us. No one knows you're here and by the time anyone starts missing you, we will already know what we want to know. Alecto?"

"_Crucio_!" 

-o-

**Sunday **

With a self-inking quill clutched firmly in his hand, Harry found himself in front of the fireplace. A handful of Floo powder turned the fire green and he stuck his head in the flames. 

"Malfoy Manor," he called out in a clear voice and momentarily, the reception room appeared before him. 

With a pop, a house elf Apparated into the room. 

"Young Master Draco's friend Master Harry," it said with a voice that was so squeaky-high that it could only be a girl-house elf. "What can Milly be doing for you?" 

"Hello, Milly! Nice to see you again," he grinned at her and she giggled a little– everyone liked being remembered. "Is Draco there? I wanted to ask whether he had time to play!" 

"Yes, yes, Master Draco is at home but he's being on the Quidditch pitch with the Lord Malfoy! You may come through, Master Draco's friend Master Harry." 

Harry waited until the house elf had snapped and Floo'd over. Together with the house elf, he started the walk towards the pitch and thought furiously on how to escape unnoticed. 

"Wait, Milly, you said Lord Malfoy is with Draco? Shouldn't he be in the ministry?" 

"Oh no, Master Draco's friend Master Harry, Lord Malfoy doesn't go to the ministry on Sundays," the house elf tutted. 

"Sunday!?" Harry stopped in his tracks and made a show of being shocked. "I thought it was Monday already! Oh no, I have my tea appointment with my great-uncle Lord Black on Sundays!" 

He turned on his heels and ran back towards the reception room. While frantically clawing out his invisibility cloak, he threw Floo powder into the fire and called out "Black Manor!" 

By the time the house elf had arrived in the room, the flames were just turning orange again and Harry was cowering in a corner, hidden by the cloak. Barty had said this one was special. That no one could look through it, not even house elves who were very adept at a different kind of magic from wizards. 

And indeed, the house elf shook its head a little and sighed but didn't notice him. 

"Young masters are always so hasty," she tutted and popped away. 

Grinning madly because his plan had worked out well so far, Harry snuck out of the reception room and made his way to the library on tippy toes. 

Once inside, he got out the diary. 

_ I'm in the library in Malfoy Manor. The house elf thinks I left again. _

_ Very good, Harry! I was really good at sneaking around when I was younger, too. They didn't feed us much when I was small and I had to sneak out at night to get food from the kitchen. _

_ Me, too, when I was still at my aunt's place. I'm glad those days are over. Do you remember the title of the book I need? _

_ 'Most Illustriouse Potions', it should be somewhere on the left of the room, around a child's eye level. Tap page number 77 with the wand you brought. _

_ What do we do if he's not down there? _

_ Then we'll search the whole manor top to bottom. _

_ Alright! _

Harry put the diary in a pocket of his robes so it was more easily accessible, got out the wand and started searching. When he'd located the book, he noticed that it sat a little askew from the ones around it. Barty, perfectionist that he was, wouldn't have left it like this. 

Heart beating in his throat, Harry pulled the book out and turned to page 77. He tapped the page number after a moment's hesitation and the shelf started turning inwards. After putting the book back where it belonged, askew as before, Harry went into the stone stairwell and pushed the shelf shut again from the inside. 

There was a lone magical torch burning around the round corner and Harry crept down the stairs towards it. He still had the wand in his hand– as if that would save him. There weren't even any spells he could do!

He briefly started wondering what Barty could have forgotten down here. Did he maybe miss Voldemort so much that he wanted to see whether he would have visions again? But he had Tom now! 

When he was right under the torch, a wooden door at the end of the spiral staircase sprang open and two people came barging out. Harry suppressed a squeak and flattened himself against the wall as best as he could. 

"–your idea! And now you're the one not getting him to talk," a short, heavy-set woman with a voice as unattractive as her face said. 

"It's not my fault the Crouches are as stubborn as they are ancient, Alecto," a thin, long man replied with a roll of his eyes. "Look, we'll just take another break, let him stew a bit, and then you can take over." 

That seemed to mollify the woman and she followed the man up the stairs and out of the stairwell. When they had left, the torch over his head extinguished and Harry was alone with his thumping heart. 

Crouch! They had Barty and they knew who he was!? He wanted nothing more than to fly down the stairs and check for himself but maybe there was someone else there? He wished he could ask Tom for advice, but in the darkness, he couldn't even see the diary. 

He longed for the easy comfort a muggle flashlight had gifted him in the first months back in their London flat. How cozy it had been back then, and how easy and now everything was complicated and dangerous! 

In all this uncertainty, Harry was sure of only one thing: he wanted Barty back and he wanted him back now. 

Steeling himself against the fear threatening to bubble up, Harry inched down the stairs, careful not to fall and make a racket that would alert anyone to his presence. 

At the bottom of the stairs, the wooden door was left slightly ajar and once again, the hazy light of magical torches beckoned him in. The crack was just broad enough that Harry could slip through without touching either wall or door and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Always leave things as they were. Don't let the Dursleys know you were there. Only ever take a piece of bread from the front or back of the package. Only ever take one or two leftover pieces of potato. Always put the toothpaste back exactly as it was. 

With that mantra playing in his head, Harry slowly, slowly made his way down the corridor. The light of the torch in the distance was getting closer and Harry supposed he was nearing the cells Barty had told him about. 

That thought had him pause where he stood. Cells. Surely not…! 

As quick as he dared now, Harry inched down the corridor until he was almost at the cells. His feet felt like lead, though, and a sense of dread had fallen over him like a second cloak. 

Then, he heard a voice whispering feverishly in the dark. 

"_Alohomora,_ _alohomora, _oh come **on**, _ confringo, bombarda, _anything!" 

"Barty!" Harry threw off the invisibility cloak and ran towards the cell the voice was coming from. He felt like crying because it really was him! "You're here, you're here, I missed you so much! What are they doing to you?" 

Barty looked terrible. His eyes, always a little haunted, played host to a feverish glint and his hair was disheveled and dirty. There was a big bruise around his eye and a trail of blood led down his chin from the corner of his mouth. On top of that, he was handcuffed to the bars of the cell with his right hand but the manacles weren't anything like the ones he'd seen on muggle TV. These had runes and everything. 

"Harry…?" Barty stared dumbly at him for a second while taking in the cloak, the wand in his hand and the diary peeking out of Harry's too-small pocket before his gaze turned dark. "No, Harry. Leave. You can't be here, please, they'll be back soon. Go!" 

"They said they'd let you stew for a while," Harry argued. "I can't leave you here, I'm getting you out. Why are you here? What do they want with you? Why did they hurt you so much?" 

"They want me to talk but they haven't been particularly forthcoming about what it is they want me to talk about," Barty spat out through gritted teeth. "Something about a new era and the reign of Voldemort being over since a new Dark Lord would rise in his place… it's been a long couple days, to be honest. They know I took the diary and the ring, somehow, and they want me to reveal what I know about resurrecting him so they can stop any and all ways to bring him back. But there's no time for everything now, you need to leave."

"Are these magic-binding manacles from South Africa?" Harry stepped closer to the cell, unoccupied aside from Barty, and eyed it curiously. "How ironic. It will make things difficult, though. I mean, I brought a wand but if you can't use it, it's not very useful." 

Harry felt angry at those people for incarcerating and hurting his poor Barty and he wondered whether he could get angry enough to snap the manacles. 

"Can't you maybe use your other hand? Or is _ all _ of your magic bound?" 

"All of it," Barty said with a twitch somewhere around his eyes. "How did you even find me?" 

"Sirius finally went to the DMLE to tell them you're missing," Harry said and added with a cheeky grin, "so while he was gone, I went and got the diary from where he'd stashed it and Tom helped me with using the Scrying bowl. We collected a couple things and here we are! And I'm not leaving until you're free." 

"How are you going to get me free? You're just a–" 

"I'm not just a child, Barty," Harry grumbled while he got out the diary and the self-inking quill. "Well, I mean, I _ am _ a child but I'm not a _ child!_" 

He knelt down to make writing easier. 

_ I found him. He's in one of the cells in the torture dungeon and his arm is cuffed to the bars with magic-binding manacles. Do you have an idea? _

_ I do, but he's not going to like it. _

_ So I won't tell him. _

_ That's the spirit. I'm going to need to tap into the piece of my soul that's contained within you. That way, I might be able to take corporeal form for long enough to work some magic. _

_ You can do that? Aren't you just a horcrux, too? _

_ Don't you feel it calling to me? _

Harry lowered the quill a little and concentrated on his soul. He didn't know how to actually do that but he supposed that if you wanted it bad enough, it would probably work. It was a _ soul,_ after all, and he had _ magic_. And there was, indeed, a certain kind of longing somewhere deep inside him. 

It was right next to the formerly gaping hole where family and friends were supposed to reside, now mercifully filled with cheer and happiness from years of love and care. But the flickering light somewhere next to it yet at the same time very far away, like a candle braving the storm, was still out in the cold and Harry reached out to it. 

When he did, the tiny flicker grew until it had closed half the distance between them and engulfed his outstretched fingers with cold. Harry wanted to draw his hand back but withstood the urge and slowly, the chill receded. 

Strangely enough, it felt like petting a snake as Harry had sometimes done in the forest back at Black manor. At first they were cool, but very soon they'd be as warm as your hand or arm if you cared to stick around for long enough. 

"That's it," a voice whispered next to him and Harry flinched. 

He looked to his left and up and saw the most handsome boy he'd ever seen standing next to him in his Hogwarts robes in the bottomless darkness. 

"Tom?" His voice sounded off even to his own ears. As if he was talking through fog maybe? Distorted, kind of. 

"Yes, it's me. You invited me in. Subconsciously, at least. I will need to take some of my soul shard's strength in order to help you and Barty," the older boy whispered, fixating on the pulsating light still surrounding Harry's arm. 

"Yeah, alright," Harry whispered back and offered Tom his glowing hand without hesitation. 

As the other boy clasped his hand, the glowing became more intense and Harry felt like the two of them were standing in the eye of a storm. 

Vaguely, he thought he heard Barty calling out his name and looked around in the black expanse of nothingness around him and Tom. Then, the light became so blinding that he had to use his free hand to shield his eyes and he suddenly felt like he was falling. 

Instead of the expected impact though, Harry found himself back in the dungeon where Barty was stretching against his bindings as hard as he could. 

"Harry," Barty gasped with what must have been awe and reverence in his voice. "What did you do?" 

Harry frowned and noticed in that moment that he was still holding hands with someone. He looked at the well-manicured hand and followed along the black expanse of school robes only to finally gaze upon the proud smile of Tom Riddle beaming down at him. 

"You did it, Harry," the tall boy told him and Tom's second hand joined his first one in engulfing Harry's. "I can get you out of here now." 

"There's no time for this," Barty angry-whispered, "I heard the shelf open upstairs while you were… gone or, or meditating or whatever it was. Give him the wand, Harry, and by Merlin, use the cloak. I can't have you hurt, especially not because of me, please!" 

Harry nodded grimly because he understood that a battlefield was no place for him. He gave Tom the wand he'd held onto with his free hand and watched in fascination as the other boy gently stroked the fine, dark wood. 

"Go hide now, Harry, I shall deal with them," Tom promised with an air of finality. 

He nodded, threw the cloak back over his head and went to hide in one of the cells opposite Barty that had an unlocked door. 

Then, the wooden door burst open and Barty's captors returned. 

In anyone else's eyes, the feral glint Tom was suddenly sporting would have probably made Harry a little uncomfortable but right now, he felt his racing heart calm down at the sight of it. 

  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, canon-typical violence :)

Barty was still marvelling at seeing Tom again so soon when the young man turned to him with a calculating glance. 

"Who am I dealing with?" he asked simply, twirling the wand Harry had brought with him between his long fingers. 

"Amycus and Alecto Carrow, siblings, twins…? Former followers of yours in any case," Barty explained in a whisper. "They got off easy with an Imperious defense. Purebloods, Ancient but not Noble, dumber than a sack of bricks. They claim to serve a new Lord now but I don't know who it is." 

Tom nodded slowly and Barty froze when he saw the young man's observant gaze travel down his half-hidden left arm. 

Later on, Barty would remember this as the first time he'd seen pure rage mar Tom Riddle's handsome features. 

"I'm going to kill them," Tom seethed and turned back to the approaching Carrows. 

"What!" Amycus' voice was a bellow of rage and shock. "Who are you! A Hogwarts student? Why aren't you at school, what's going on here!" 

"An itsy bitsy student," Alecto crowed triumphantly. "Maybe Crouch's bastard boy come to save his daddy? But that must mean Barty Jr would have had to touch a woman and I _ seriously _ doubt that." 

"Are you a Malfoy cousin or something, boy?" Amycus asked cautiously then, obviously not wanting to rock the boat too much in case their visitor was someone well-connected. 

"I'm your executioner," Tom replied calmly. "I have come back to judge you, Amycus and Alecto, and _ I have found you lacking_."

What followed that chilling statement was a hiss that sounded vicious even to Barty's untrained ears and Amycus and Alecto fell to their knees, clutching their left forearms with matching shocked expressions. 

"No! What! That can't be," Amycus whispered with comically wide eyes, trembling from fear or pain or both. "You're dead!" 

"Did you really believe something as trivial as _ death _ would stop Lord Voldemort from rising again, fools?" Tom's face was a mask of bland pity and disappointment. "You disgust me. Kidnapping and torturing my true servant? And for what? What did they want with you, Barty?" 

"They… are suspiciously well-informed, my lord. They want to know the locations of your other… heirlooms in order to stop me from bringing you back." 

"Well," Tom replied simply, looking at the Carrows again. "That's _ very _ interesting. Would you care to share how it is you have attained any knowledge on the matter?" 

Both Amycus and Alecto were still staring at Tom as if they had never seen a human being before. And truly, had anyone ever seen a human being as flawless as this before? Barty's heart gave a tug because what kind of servant had he been this past day? Losing his connection like this—

"You will answer me," Tom commanded, voice dangerous. 

"I'm, I mean, we… my Lord, we, we didn't know you were still out there," Amycus began haltingly, still clutching his forearm in a death grip. 

"Obviously," Tom commented with a frown. "Who do you serve now, my faithless? Did he mark you? Do you prostrate yourselves before him like you did with me? Can he make you tremble with a look? Cry with a smile? Rejoice with a word?" 

"You can't tell him, fool," Alecto cried when she noted that her shaking brother was about to break. "He will have our heads!" 

A further hiss from Tom had both of them cry out in excruciating pain. Barty, obedient child he had been, had never born the brunt of his master's anger but the little reprimands he'd been given occasionally had been enough to show him how bad an idea it was to cross Lord Voldemort in earnest. 

"It's Lord Rosier," Amycus finally cried out. 

With a wand movement of Tom's, the pain stopped and the Carrows sagged in relief. 

"Rosier?" Tom's brows rose a fraction of an inch. "Eustace Rosier? My, what a _ twist_. One of my earliest friends: turned traitor, turned **usurper**? Unexpected, I'll give you that. What will you do, Carrows, now that you know the truth? Lord Voldemort's glorious return is at hand and _ you serve the wrong king._"

"You're no king anymore," Alecto spat at Tom and Barty gasped at the audacity of it. "We were young and foolish when we joined your crusade but we've learned since then. Lord Rosier is mad you took his son and heir, as are many others. Many Pureblood families are dying out because of you! You have made strong enemies, and we're on the right side this time around!" 

"You swore your allegiance for _ life_," Tom reminded her calmly and raised his wand. "Your pitiful lives belong to me!" 

Amycus and Alecto both raised their wands and cast a shield spell between them and Tom. He shattered it easily with not a word spoken and his curse threw Amycus back and had him land in a heap on the floor. 

"_Colloportus_," Tom drawled and the wooden door leading to the stairwell became a fortress. 

"You Halfblood bastard," Alecto cried. "_Avada Kedavra_!" 

By the time she'd finished the curse, Tom had already conjured a thick marble slab that exploded upon impact with the green light. 

"_Depulso,_" she cried next but the curse simply fizzled out against Tom's wordless _ protego_. 

"My turn," Tom smiled darkly. "_Depulso_!" 

The sheer force of Tom's curse shattered Alecto's hastily conjured shield and sent her flying against a wall where she crumbled like a sack of potatoes. 

"That was almost too easy," Tom quibbed as he wordlessly bound the unconscious Carrows. "But it does feel nice to hold a wand again. Harry, the diary if you please?" 

Harry threw off the invisibility cloak and handed Tom the diary. "I'm glad you beat them, Tom." 

"Oh, they're vermin," Tom shrugged. "I'll teach you how to handle filth like them in due time." There, he paused. "Well… I suppose my master soul will teach you these things if you ask him nicely." 

Barty watched a silent exchange between the two following that statement, both with their hands resting on opposite sides of the diary, but quickly lost focus. The adrenaline that had been keeping him upright was slowly receding now that the immediate threat was gone. 

"Harry, please take care of our dear Barty," Tom commanded gently not long afterwards. "You don't need to see what I'm about to do now." 

Obediently, Harry came over to Barty's cell with a ring of keys Tom must have filched from one of the Carrows. He tried several until he'd found the right one and came rushing inside.

"Oh Barty, finally," Harry grinned and gave him a hug. "Wait, I'll free your wrist. Here, can you hold the cloak maybe? I need to hold the manacles in place for the key." 

"You better put it in your bag, Harry," Barty advised him with a soft voice. "I don't really feel all that strong at the moment."

"Alright," Harry agreed, did just that and tried the newest-looking key which finally freed Barty's poor arm. "Your wrist is all bloody and bruised! We'll need to get you to St. Mungo's immediately or it might get infected." 

"Gonna need my talisman," Barty started but Harry shook his head. 

"Don't worry, it was in the cell I was hiding in," Harry grinned and held it up triumphantly. 

"_Diffindo_," Barty heard from further down the corridor and a wet squelching sound had him shudder a little. 

"Harry, I… I need to tell you something." 

"Are you going to ground me because I left home without permission? I knew the aurors weren't going to find you in time!" 

"No, that's not it," Barty answered with a sigh. "I am very, _ very _glad you're here. But, mh, they… wanted information from me and I wasn't particularly inclined to share it." 

"They tortured you!" Harry realised with big, sad eyes. "Are you going to be okay? Shall I support you while you're walking?" 

"They did torture me a little, yes," Barty admitted as he saw Tom's approach from the corner of his eyes and looked up to him. "They said I wasn't following a worthy master and that I… that I had to be taught to see the truth. So they… severed my connection to you." 

Tom knelt down next to them. 

"Let me see it, Barty," he urged and Barty complied with his head hanging down in shame. 

When he raised the remains of his left arm, ending in a haphazardly healed stump just under his elbow, Harry cried out in alarm and Tom hissed with fury. 

"I knew it," Tom snarled. "Those utter _ pigs_." 

"Barty, your hand," Harry whispered, touching the stump with trembling fingers. "Your arm, your… your mark!" 

Harry crawled into his lap and started sobbing and Barty held him as best as he could with his right arm. Every action he'd normally have done with his left hand seemed sluggish and wrong with the right and he felt the urge to cry claw at the back of his throat. 

Tom's hand was a warm, steadying presence on his shoulder. 

"I have robbed the Carrows of their power before killing them," Tom told him. "I have strength left to remain here a while, and I shall go and reveal myself to Lucius. Put your talisman back on, help will be along shortly." 

Seeing the talisman viciously cut off from the necklace, Tom grimaced and quickly joined the two pieces back together himself with an adhesive spell and was off in a flurry of elegance and long limbs. 

-o-

When Tom returned with an agitated Narcissa and Lucius in tow, Barty breathed a sigh of relief. Harry, who had still been sitting in his lap, was helped up and hugged by Narcissa and Barty was surprised to find Lucius himself kneeling next to him. 

"I didn't know about any of this, Mr. Hornby," the proud lord stammered as he held Barty's good hand. "I would have never granted them access if I'd known this was what– by Merlin, I'm so very sorry!" 

Barty nodded shakily and let himself be helped up by the nobleman. 

"You couldn't have known, Lord Malfoy," he pressed out between breaths, thankful to be able to lean his weight on Lucius. "I'm just glad it's over." 

"You will take care of them, Lucius," Tom commanded. "Until my final return, you will use all your political power and personal wealth to ensure Harry Potter's continued survival and wellness which includes that of those close to him. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, my lord," Lucius was quick to reply, eyes downcast. "I shall also investigate Lord Rosier and his supposed… _ coup._"

At those words, Lucius spared a disgusted look towards the bodies of Alecto and Amycus Carrow. 

"Very good, Lucius," Tom nodded. "Narcissa, you will advise the other ladies how much of a good idea it is to be on the right side of this conflict, yes?" 

"Of course, my lord," she answered, still holding a shivering Harry close to her. "They will know in no uncertain yet easily deniable ways."

At that point, Barty lost his focus and he was only vaguely aware of Tom leading Harry away a short distance while Narcissa tended to his hurt arm. 

"Oh dear," she tutted, prodding the tender flesh with her wand. "What a shoddy job. Don't you worry, Mr. Hornby, we'll have that fixed and ready again for you in no time. I personally know a simply marvellous crafter of magical prostheses and I will make sure she shall supply you with only the finest—" 

At that point, Barty must have lost consciousness and he greedily invited the pull of darkness in.

-o-

When he woke up again, he found himself in a hospital room. Must be St. Mungo's then. Sirius was passed out on a sofa to his far right, snoring gently and holding Barty's blue silver scarf in the hand that was dangling down. 

Harry was sitting next to his bed, head resting on his crossed arms atop Barty's covers. Groaning with relief, Barty leaned back again. Harry was fine, the boy was fine. All fine.

His stirring must have woken Harry up because the boy's sleepy, unfocused eyes soon peered up at him groggily before widening. 

"Alfy, you're awake!" There was a startled squawk from Sirius upon Harry's proclamation but the boy didn't seem to notice. "I'm so glad you're awake! Listen carefully now, Lucius, Tom and me decided on an official course of events and the aurors will be called once the healers know you're awake." 

"Yeah, yeah, alright," Barty agreed haltingly, trying hard to concentrate. 

Sirius was about to stop Harry but Barty held up his good hand (don't look at the left one, don't) and bade Harry to continue. 

"You were taken by the Carrows, that much stays the same. They tortured you to get information on me because they wanted to kill me. Finish what Lord Voldemort couldn't do to show that their _ new _ master was more powerful than Voldemort had been," Harry explained and Barty snorted at the irony of it. "Lucius, who wanted to make sure that everything was going smoothly with the de-cursing, was shocked when he found you being tortured down there and took out both Amycus and Alecto. They sustained cut wounds in the process that ultimately cost them their lives because they resisted and threatened Lucius. Then, he freed you, called his wife and they brought you here and contacted the aurors. That's it."

Barty went through it again in his head. "Okay, yeah, I can remember that," he decided and only then looked over to Sirius. 

He was surprised to see tears shimmering in the man's eyes. 

"I'm so sorry," Sirius whispered hoarsely, gently picking up Barty's good hand. "I… I should have taken Harry's concerns more seriously but I thought that, well, you're allowed your own life and, and… I was so afraid when I returned from the DMLE and you were both gone and then when Cissy contacted me, I–" 

Sirius interrupted his own rambling and sniffled a little. It was all quite pitiful and Barty swallowed against the solid lump in his throat. 

"You couldn't have known it was something so serious," Barty soothed him. "I could have just run into an old acquaintance or something." 

"You said you'd be back," Sirius growled. "And you weren't! I should have known that something was wrong; you would have notified us. Gods, Ba- Alfy, I'm, I can't put into words how sorry I am!" 

Barty simply pressed Sirius' hand because he didn't trust his own voice. 

"We'll talk more later, Sirius. The diary?" he asked Harry quietly. 

"Wrapped in my cloak, hidden in my bag," Harry explained. "Tom has returned there for now. He wants to conserve his strength for when we have need of him."

"He's, uh, he's a good conversationalist," Sirius told them then in a small voice. "I wrote to him, that afternoon while you were in Knockturn. And now that he's saved you both, well, let's just say I'm glad that what lingering preconceptions I had about the Dark Lord have been proven wrong in the best ways possible over the last couple of days." 

"I'm glad," Harry beamed at his godfather. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without Tom. He told me to tell you to take it slow, by the way, Alfy. Get better first. Get used to, well, whatever prosthesis you'll end up with and then you can continue your studies."

Barty felt his lower lip tremble and quickly ran his good hand over his face to hide it. 

"Did he… say anything about the mark?" 

"Once he's back, he'll give you a new one if you want." 

"Of course I do," Barty quickly replied, feeling shame burn his cheeks. "I'm… lost without it… It's all that kept me going before I found you, Harry." 

"We'll make this work, Alfy," Harry promised with a big smile that managed to brighten Barty's spirit despite it all. "Narcissa said she'd contact her friend who does prostheses right away. She hopes her friend will be here tomorrow or the day after."

"I'll still have to learn how to cast with my other hand, though," Barty realised, mustering his good hand. "That's gonna be so weird." 

"We'll start slow, just like last time," Sirius proposed with a wobbly sort of smile. "I'll just keep firing stinging hexes and you try to make a shield. You'll be back up to speed again in no time, you're a natural." 

"Yeah, let's hope so," Barty agreed cautiously, still not quite able to make himself look down his left arm. 

Then, the door opened and they had to disrupt their conversation because a healer and a medi-witch entered the room. 

-o-

Barty found out over the course of the day that he was in the most private ward St. Mungo's had to offer. It wasn't even listed in the general directory and apparently, Lord Malfoy had pulled some strings to have him admitted here. 

To say the man felt bad about the whole thing would be an understatement. Even now, he was visiting, staring out the magical windows to the non-existent meadow outside. 

"I had not expected him to return, Mr. Hornby," Lucius shared, voice thick. "To have him appear before my very eyes so suddenly gave me quite the shock. Did you hear much about what happened during the wizarding war here in Britain over in South Africa? You would have been but a young man then." 

Barty thought about his answer carefully and considered what to tell him. He supposed that it was only fair that he reveal his identity because Lucius would need to know all the facts if he were to investigate Lord Rosier and his accomplices. 

So while he felt ill-equipped to deal with the emotional fall-out this revelation might bring, he steeled himself anyway and took a deep breath. 

"I was there, Lucius," he finally answered. "We fought side by side, you and I." 

Lucius whirled around at that, pretty blue-grey eyes flicking over Barty's persona's appearance in confusion before settling on the stump and widening in realisation. 

"That's why they– but who… Regulus?" 

This time, Barty only had the energy to sigh and shake his head. He'd need to find out what had happened to Regulus eventually so people would stop thinking he was him. 

"No… Same age bracket though," he confessed and laboriously took off the talisman around his neck with one hand. 

"Barty," Lucius whispered after mustering him and finally nodding to himself as if this answered many questions. "Of course it would be _ you _ risking your life to bring him back. Father used to sing praises to your and the Lestranges' loyalty. The only ones of Ancient families to have taken the fall, after all." 

"I would have preferred to have stayed out of Azkaban," Barty sneered. "Mother switched with me after a year and died there. Father kept me under the Imperious until my master's magic broke the curse and I ended up at Harry's side after… quite some hoops. He's a _ Parselmouth_, Lucius, and if anything were to happen to him, me and Tom will end whoever is responsible."

"A lot of things make sense now," Lucius admitted slowly and came over to him. "Your closeness with the boy… he stayed with you before Sirius was freed, I suppose? Yes, of course. That's why you were always there when we or anyone visited. You're his bodyguard as well as his teacher. The mastermind behind this all." 

Lucius practically plopped down onto the upholstered visitor's chair and stared into the nothingness of the opposite wall. 

"This has been a rather eventful couple of days," he finally said and looked at Barty with a curious expression. "That's also why you've been so cold towards me all this time. You consider me a traitor, as much as you consider all our brothers and sisters who've walked free as traitors."

"I do," Barty agreed. "Or, well, did. Cantankerus knows of my true identity and he shared with me how he pulled what strings he could to keep as many of us out of prison as he could. I suppose your father did the same?" 

Lucius nodded. "Yes. It was paramount that we remain free and able to shape Magical Britain. I do, of course, admit that going to Azkaban did not appeal much to me so I took what actions I could to avoid it." 

"I cried like a little boy during my trial, too," Barty remembered with a small shake of his head. "I mean, you were there. You saw me. It was… not a good day." 

"And I suppose you were behind getting Sirius free in the first place?" 

"That was mostly Harry's doing," Barty admitted. "He insisted." 

"I find myself more and more intrigued by Mr. Potter." Lucius idly played with the cane containing his wand. "He has that effect on people, hasn't he? A most… unusual boy." 

"I'd die for him in a heartbeat."

Lucius considered Barty's bad arm resting on the covers between them for a while and just when Barty felt the urge to pull it away and hide it against his chest, the man looked up at him. 

"I understand," Lucius finally said and looked the most like his father that Barty had ever seen. "Please, may I refer to you as Barty when we're in private? You may call me Lucius." 

Barty simply nodded, too mystified by the sudden change in demeanor to talk much. 

"I shall go and investigate. There's lots of errands to run for my lord and your ward. I will be in touch with you, my friend." 

Long after Lucius had left, Barty still wondered about how a purpose could change a man. 

-o-

The next time the door opened, it was already well past visiting hours. Barty, in that weird state between asleep and awake, half expected it to be the prosthesis crafter who'd visit as a personal favour after her business hours but that thought quickly fizzled out when he saw who it was. 

"Ah, Mr. Hornby, you're still awake," Albus Dumbledore said in that well-meaning voice of his. "I would have hated to have disturbed you." 

For about three seconds, Barty's mind just froze but then he grit his mental teeth _ because he was too close to his goals to make mistakes now. _

"Oh, Mr. Dumbledore?" Fortunately he didn't need to feign the tiredness in his voice. "I thought this was a private ward?" 

"It is of course, my dear Mr. Hornby," Dumbledore agreed, "however, one of my old friends works here." 

Barty forced a tired smile on his face when the old man winked at him. 

"You are very resourceful, Mr. Dumbledore," Barty replied and leaned back into his cushions when Dumbledore approached and sat down on the armchair next to his bed. 

Barty could have done without the pitiful look at his arm. Patience, he told himself, patience. 

"I heard some terrible rumours about some new Dark Lord," Dumbledore started. "Apparently, Amycus and Alecto Carrow have changed allegiance towards him? Or might as well be a her, I suppose?" 

"Let me guess… another old friend?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously in return and wow that had to be a glamour, right? "I see. I know little of these things, Mr. Dumbledore. We don't have dark lords in South Africa and I was only a young man fresh out of school when you-know-who was at large. I doubt I could tell you more than what the aurors have gathered." 

"I understand, Mr. Hornby, it must all be very confusing for you here," Dumbledore nodded sagely. "If I may ask a pointed question or two to jog your memory?" 

"You may try, of course," Barty replied genially. 

"The auror report said that they intended to kill poor Harry to show their new lord's superiority. Did they name any other reasons while talking to you?" 

Was he hoping to hear something about the prophecy? 

"Other reasons? Let me think… they said they wanted to finish for their lord what you-know-who started. I think they didn't work on his behalf, actually? Maybe they wanted to show their worth to him." 

All lies, of course, but Dumbledore seemed to gobble them up. 

"So the newcomer wants to stay anonymous?" 

"I suppose so? I really wouldn't know, Mr. Dumbledore." Barty made a show of getting his glass with a trembling hand and taking a small sip of water. "I'm afraid it was all rather traumatic." 

"And I'm terribly sorry to remind you of those harrowing days," Dumbledore replied earnestly and for what it was worth, Barty actually believed him. "But you must understand: the security of Harry Potter and maybe all of Magical Great Britain may be at stake here! Lord Voldemort's reign was terrible and Britain doesn't need another Dark Lord so soon." 

Barty made himself wince when Dumbledore said his master's true name and looked away with a frightened expression. 

"You speak of such horrible things, Mr. Dumbledore," he whispered, "and soon I will be alone with my memories and my imagination in a lonely hospital room. I would prefer if you left now lest I shall get even cruder thoughts for my nightmares." 

Dumbledore looked pained at that statement and closed his eyes as if he'd experienced a sudden-onset migraine. 

"I really am terribly sorry, Mr. Hornby, I've been very selfish today," the old man sighed and smiled sadly at him. "In my old age, I sometimes find myself not quite as mindful of others' feelings as I perhaps should be. One last question, then I shall leave you to rest and recuperate. Harry– how is he coping with this? Is he alright?" 

Barty frowned and didn't even have to fake it. 

"I find your interest in my pupil questionable, Mr. Dumbledore," he admitted. "He's a remarkable boy but other than you being his future headmaster and having been his magical guardian for a time, there is no connection between you. And from what I have heard, while he was technically under your protection, you didn't look after his well-being once. So do forgive me if I find your sudden interest in him ever since he started staying with the Black family both alarming and more than slightly worrying."

Dumbledore took off his half-moon spectacles, something Barty had never seen him do before, and watched the old man massage the bridge of his nose with his free hand. 

"There are many things in motion here you do not understand, my dear Mr. Hornby," Dumbledore said in a soft voice after a while. "There are many burdens I carry, and I'm afraid they are mine alone to bear. Rest assured, if Harry is ever in any real danger, I will be at his side." 

What, like when he came on his own to save me because he's lost too much already?, Barty wanted to spit out but only nodded curtly. 

"Keep your secrets, old man," Barty conceded, letting his disappointment show on his face. "But _ you _ rest assured that Harry has all the protection he needs." 

"I understand, Mr. Hornby," Dumbledore replied as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "I will leave you alone now. I'm sorry for intruding on you but I had to make sure that—nevermind. Sleep well, young man." 

Barty waited until Dumbledore had reached the door before calling out. 

"Mr. Dumbledore?" The old man turned around once more, gaze… hopeful?. "If I ever hear that you have ambushed Harry in any way, shape or form, similarly to how you have harassed me here today, in this supposedly very private, very secure wing, I care not for who you have defeated in battle or who feared your magical talent in the past. If you do bad unto him, I will make you pay dearly."

Dumbledore's expression turned, if anything, even more morose than it had been. He nodded sadly and made as if to say something but seemed to think better of it and simply left the room. 

For a good while after Dumbledore had left, Barty stared at the door. What a sentimental old man… To mean so well yet fail so fatally was quite a feat in itself. 

He reached over and grabbed his wand from the nightstand. It felt foreign in his right hand. 

"_Hominem revelio._" 

It took more effort than it used to, and the wand movement was shaky and unclean at best, but it took. He could feel it work and put the wand down again once he was sure there was no one else hiding in room. 

For a second or two, he imagined using _ colloportus _ on the door because clearly the staff couldn't be fully trusted, but—no. Not today. He'd go home tomorrow whether they thought he was ready or not, but for now, he would finally have to sleep and face some of his new demons. 

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and curled protectively around the remains of his left arm. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom. There we go. One of the earliest scenes I had planned :')
> 
> By the way, Dumbledore is now _finally_ sure about Mr Hornby's actual identity: it's Regulus Black, and he's very happy about that revelation.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, here we are, here we are! Hopefully I'll be able to make next week's update so there won't be a two week break again <3

When Barty came home from St. Mungo's, he was _ different. _

Not the kind of different that you noticed immediately but the kind that only became obvious in hindsight. 

Harry didn't like it. 

Even after the kind old lady crafting magical prostheses had come and gone, fitting him with a beautiful new hand that looked almost like the old one, Barty stayed detached and hid away in the library even more than he usually did. 

So, instead of sleeping, Harry lay awake and watched the stars twinkle on his ceiling—a Christmas present from Aunt Cassie so he'd have an easier time remembering constellations (and family.)

Since he'd spent enough time rolling from left to right, Harry rose and got the self-inking quill Arcturus had let him keep. After all, it had saved all their lives and the old man had been ever so glad because of it. Arcturus didn't do hugs, Harry had learned that much, but this gesture was as good as one for his aristocratic great-uncle. 

He fished the diary out from under his pillow. 

_ I can't sleep, Tom. _

_ What, again? Shall I tell you another story? _

_ No. I'd rather ask you some questions if that's alright? _

_ Yes, of course. Do you want to come in? _

_ I do but I can't. Sirius only lets me hang on to the diary because I promised to be good. If he finds out I'm not being good you'll be stowed away until they need you instead of staying with me until they need you. _

_ Well, we wouldn't want that, would we? Who'd tell you stories if not me? That reminds me… Are you going to take me with you to Hogwarts? _

_ I want to but I'll have to talk to Barty about it. I just don't want to stress him right now—it's only been a little over a week since he lost his arm and he's still really sad. I don't know how to help him. _

_ I'm afraid this is one of those wounds that only time can heal, Harry. Once he's successfully resurrected my master soul, there might be a spell to restore his hand. I know I've dabbled in that already, so my older self would probably know a lot more. _

_ That's kind of what I wanted to talk about with you. If you are, or he, or. Right. If we resurrect the master soul and unite all the horcruxes in the ritual, will you still be there? _

Tom didn't answer for a longer time than usual. Harry tiredly rubbed at his eyes. 

_ I can't be absolutely sure. None of this has been done before. My theory is that my master soul will have full control and that he will have my memories to draw from. _

_ But _ _ you _ _ won't be there anymore? _

_ I'm afraid not. At least not as I am now. _

_ I'm not sure I like that. You helped me save Barty and all your older self did for me was kill my parents. I mean, I understand why, the prophecy, and he was so very, very afraid but still… _

_ For what it's worth, speaking on behalf of all parts of me, I am incredibly sorry any part of me could have hurt you so, dear Harry. _

_ Is that why you were able to draw on my own soul shard's strength? _

There was another pause, this time for so long that Harry thought Tom had fallen asleep. (Did a horcrux even sleep?) 

Just as Harry was about to nod off, the diary's pages flared and, with a small burst of light, Tom was sitting opposite him on his mattress.

"Tom…"

"I needed to look into your eyes when I told you this, because almost ten years ago, I looked into your eyes when I cast the killing curse." Tom reached out and took one of Harry's hands in his. "I feel deep regret over attempting to kill you, dear Harry. If I could do it all over again, I would have taken you away instead and raised you to be a boy just as you are now." 

"That's what Barty did," Harry realised, whispering in the eerie quiet between them. "He told me he had planned on killing me but that he couldn't when he saw me." 

Tom's face was a mask of pain and grief and Harry reached out with his free hand to give the other boy some comfort. 

"Had I not been so vain as to think I could cheat death by brutalising myself, I would never have stooped so low as to kill a babe point-blank, Harry," Tom whispered, angry at himself. His other self. Someone. "I was blind and in my blindness, I took from another child what had been taken from me so many years ago. I shall not see you get hurt again. I know you planned on playing host to all my soul shards, but I will not risk you or your sanity. I will play host. Your ability to forgive me for all those murders has taught me to feel regret and thus, I will be able to reunite them inside me."

Harry felt his eyes widen. 

"You could do that?" 

"Yes. I've been meditating over what I've seen of my older self's life in Barty's mind and I am positive I will be able to do what's required of me." 

"But you'd be gone?" Harry asked again, just to see Tom's expression. Just to make _ sure. _

It was one of grief and sadness and of, well, Harry wasn't sure about that one, but all the unwed Pureblood ladies looked at Sirius like that. Barty had called it longing. 

"I'm prepared to do my part, Harry," Tom finally answered and smiled. 

"And I will do mine," Harry sighed and crawled back under his covers. 

Tom tucked them in around his shoulders and stayed sitting beside him. Harry marveled at how his friend's form didn't make a dip in the mattress and somewhere between wondering about the nature of souls and how Tom got his hair to do that nice curl, he must have fallen asleep. 

-o-

The prosthesis felt wrong. 

Handling a quill felt wrong, opening a book felt wrong, hell, even brushing his teeth felt wrong. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

For the umpteenth time that day, Barty raised his right hand, wand held like a fawn walked, and pointed it at the ink pot he'd spilled by bumping it. 

"_ Reparo _ ." The glass returned to its original shape but the ink stayed on the table top. " _ Scourgify _." 

It vanished. He couldn't be sure of course, but it had seemed reluctant. While he was still frowning at the spot the ink had vanished from, there was a knock on the door. 

"Come in, Harry," Barty called out absent-mindedly and put the wand away in favour of trying out the quill again. 

"It's not Harry," a female voice answered and Barty looked up to see Narcissa standing there, holding on to her purse as if it was a lifeline. 

"Mrs. Malfoy," Barty greeted formally, belatedly realising that he wasn't wearing his talisman. He paled. 

"Oh do relax," Narcissa scolded him, coming over. "A husband keeps no secrets from his wife. I know who you are, _ Mr. Hornby _." 

Barty put his writing utensils away and got up because he suddenly felt quite restless. "I'm sorry for the deception, Mrs. Malfoy, but for Harry's safety, I had to conceal my identity and—" 

"I talked to Cassiopeia," Narcissa interjected. "I know everything, Bartemius." 

"I see," Barty replied awkwardly, trying to fidget with his hands but even _ that _ felt wrong. 

When Narcissa saw his sorry ass fighting with his foreign new appendage, she walked straight up to him and pulled him into a hug. Barty realised he hadn't quite hugged a woman ever since his dear mother had—

He wrapped his arms around Narcissa's slight frame, holding on for dear life and she let him. 

"You are a man now, cousin," she finally told him, holding him an arm's length away. "You have grown so much since the end of the war… you've never been able to cope with losing him, have you?" 

"It was… a hard time but I'm close to getting him back," Barty replied, blushing. "And by Merlin, we _ are _ cousins, aren't we? Can you imagine? I never knew." 

Narcissa nodded with a sad smile. "Yes, Cassiopeia told me. I just… it didn't even occur to me that your father might not have told you that he, too, was a Black. He'd stopped attending family functions right around the time you were born so we never really got to know you. And since you were friends with Regulus, I guess we thought it was a given that you knew."

Barty shrugged uneasily. "At least I know now." 

"But tell me, Bartemius, how close are you to resurrecting the Dark Lord? And why was he so _ young _?" 

"I… can't give you details lest they fall into enemy hands, Narcissa," Barty told her with a chagrined expression. "As it stands, they know too much already. There are… pieces of my master that remain and I am collecting them." 

"I understand," she answered. "The young man was one such piece. Young Harry seemed quite smitten with him." 

Barty snorted. "Yeah, they spend a lot of time together now. Thick as thieves… There are many similarities between the two of them, and Harry should get to know Lord Voldemort's younger self if he is to support the master version I am going to resurrect in the end." 

Narcissa flinched when Barty said his lord's name but remained stoic otherwise. "This… older version you're resurrecting—will he be, you know…" 

"He will be sane," Barty reassured her. "At least that's the plan and why I'm taking my time. I have only one shot and I'm planning on using that to the fullest." 

"So devoted, after all these years," Narcissa said with a small smile. "But tell me, truly, how are you coping? Draco told me you were very happy when the children came to visit and wish you well but I doubted that." 

"I was happy about the children visiting me, not… happy in general, I guess," Barty shrugged. "It turned my focus away from, you know, the, the thing that happened. It's going to be a while but it's hardly the worst thing that's happened to me and I will get a new mark once he's back." 

He was rambling and downplaying it and Narcissa _ knew _ but she didn't push it. Instead, she decided to change the subject which he was thankful for. 

"Now, Bartemius, even as Mr. Hornby, you could have told me that introducing you to all my single female friends was a lost cause," Narcissa admonished him, crossing her arms and pouting a little. "Madelyn Parkinson was simply smitten with you at Yule but you've never been much of a ladies' man, have you?" 

"No, I haven't," Barty admitted, letting Narcissa lead him over to the sunroom where the house elves were preparing some tea. 

He wouldn't be surprised if Cassiopeia had set her up for this to have someone keep an eye on him. 

"I must thank you for presenting my husband with a new obsession, too." Narcissa daintily spooned some sugar into her tea. "He seems years younger now. Even Draco noticed." 

"That's good. Being a ministry dandy suited him way less than robes and mask. Will you stand with us again, Narcissa?" 

"Oh, certainly," the woman shrugged. "As it stands, I've held up my promise to our young master and have done some propaganda among my circle of ladies." 

"Anyone suspiciously unimpressed with your veiled messages?" 

"Yes, actually, which is what I also wanted to talk to you about. Rosalind Lestrange quickly excused herself a couple days ago once we started reminiscing about the good old days." Narcissa looked pensive. "It could just be that she misses her cousins who are still rotting in Azkaban but together with how cold she was towards you…" 

"You think the Lestranges are in on it with the Rosiers?" 

"I do," Narcissa confessed with a wistful expression. "The lines are being drawn, Barty. Just like last time." 

"Just like last time," Barty agreed. "And with Lord Rosier being—"

_ Oh. _

"Barty? Are you alright?" 

He was, in fact, not alright and stared into the distance with dread coiling in his stomach. 

"I'm very sorry, Narcissa." 

"Sorry? What? Sorry about what? What's going on?" 

How was he supposed to explain what he'd just realised? 

"We need to call for your husband, Narcissa. Something has just occurred to me." 

"It's Sunday, Barty. Lucius is out watching a Quidditch match with Draco. What's going on?" 

"Your mother," Barty started, voice unsure. "She, she's a _ Rosier _. Cygnus has known my identity for over a year, ever since the Yule before last when there was a family meeting and Cassiopeia introduced me to them as Charis' grandson." 

Narcissa's hands flew to her mouth. "You don't think—" 

"You said it yourself: a husband keeps no secrets from his wife. I'm afraid Cygnus told his wife, Druella, as is his right, and she must have told her brother, Eustace." 

"Uncle Eustace," Narcissa whispered, shaking her head. "He's my _ uncle _, he followed the Dark Lord since his school days! I still can't really believe it, you know? And to think my own mother might have played a role in you being—oh, what a dreadful affair, Bartemius!" 

Barty didn't quite know what to say and concentrated on preparing his tea instead. Spooning sugar with his right hand was a travesty. 

"I suppose Uncle Eustace has never quite been able to cope with the loss of cousin Evan." Narcissa's fine eyebrows drew together in thought. "But to go so far as to denounce the Dark Lord altogether? I do wonder whether he'll change his mind if he finds out how close he is to being resurrected." 

Barty put his hand on hers. "Evan was a good man, Narcissa. A sadistic one and… not always very nice, but loyal and dependable. He wouldn't have wanted his father to betray our cause like that." 

"I will talk to Lucius about these things this evening," Narcissa promised. "Knowing that they might have known for close to a year should help him in his digging." 

-o-

In the end, spring had arrived one airy afternoon early in March before Lucius found out anything of import. Barty was out enjoying the mild warmth of a fledgling sun with Harry and Sirius on the Quidditch Pitch when they saw Tilly, one of the house elves, wave her arms at them. 

"Masters, there be's a visitor for you," she squeaked and courtsied after they'd landed. "It is the Lord Malfiloy and he wishes to speak to you's all about the most important of businesses."

Intrigued and hoping for some news, Barty followed Sirius and Harry back towards Black manor. 

"Just when I was winning," Sirius grinned, bumping Harry's shoulder as they walked. 

"You most certainly were _ not _," Harry exclaimed. "I found the snitch twice as often as you!" 

Sirius looked down at Harry and raised a dubious brow. "That doesn't make 2 to 1 sound any more impressive, Harry. Race you to the manor!"

"Oh, you're _ on _," Harry shot back and started running immediately. 

Sirius winked at Barty. "Falls for it every time." 

With that, Sirius changed into his animagus form and had overtaken Harry in no time, much to the boy's protest. 

Barty merely chuckled and followed at a more sedate pace. Even holding the broom felt wrong. 

-o-

Lucius was waiting for them in the sitting room, facing the fireplace. When they entered, he turned around and Barty cringed when he saw the man's face. One of his eyes was black and blue and, from the look of it, beginning to swell shut. 

"Shit! What happened, Lucius?" Sirius asked, alarmed and already getting out his wand. 

Lucius shrugged and let himself be led towards a chair by him. "It seems I've asked the wrong questions, or, well, maybe the right questions," he drawled, flinching a little when Sirius used a healing charm that reduced the swelling. He looked towards Harry. "Should the boy be here for the following discussion?" 

"Yes," Barty answered simply, sitting down opposite Lucius. 

"There are… details he might find unpalatable." 

"I'll be fine," Harry assured, earlier playfulness forgotten. He sat down to Barty's left and politely folded his hands on the table. 

"As you wish," Lucius sighed, looking away from them for a second to collect himself. "You were right Barty, Cygnus told Druella about your identity who, in turn, told her brother Lord Rosier. Apparently, that was enough to prompt him to start gathering followers to his cause."

"He isn't even Dark Lord material," Barty complained. "He's short, he's _ balding _ and he's a mediocre wizard at best. How he thinks to surpass Lord Voldemort begs belief." 

"Rosier's an old name," Sirius answered and made a bit of a face. "Plus, they're awfully rich. Easily as much wealth as the Malfoys or maybe even the Blacks. And many became disillusioned with You-Know-Who at the end of the war so, you know…" 

Barty didn't like it but he did, in fact, know and nodded at Sirius. 

"But how'd Lord Rosier find out about us trying to bring him back?" Harry asked, steering them back on track. "Hardly anyone knows and those who do are loyal!" 

Lucius looked shrewdly at Barty. "It all starts and ends with you I'm afraid, Barty. The Inner Circle, which Lord Rosier's son Evan was a part of, knew of your… limitless devotion to our _ Lord _ rather than his _ cause _. The Dark Lord has always bragged about having obtained immortality and with news of your survival and apparent escape from Azkaban despite having been declared dead years ago, Rosier easily arrived at the right conclusion."

"That's all well and good but how did you manage to find that out?" Barty looked pointedly at Lucius' eye. "What wizard hits someone in the face if they could use a spell?"

"My mother-in-law," Lucius replied curtly. "She wanted to get a message across, apparently. I didn't find all that out through her though, I merely confirmed some things with her before coming here." 

Summoned by their continued presence in the sitting room, the house elves brought tea and coffee and some sandwiches. Lucius instantly made himself a mug of coffee that was half sugar but it seemed he'd had quite the day so Barty didn't judge. 

"Right. From the beginning. The worst thing in all this mess first: they–" Here, Lucius stopped and looked at Harry before sighing and moving on. "They still have your arm." 

"Oh come _ on _," Sirius exclaimed, smacking his hand on the table. "What the hell, that's disgusting! No offense Barty, I liked that arm, but that's just, wow, so gross." 

"They want to test the mark, don't they?" Lucius and Sirius looked over towards Harry who was wearing a pensive expression on his young face. "Tom said they might. It's a very complicated spell, after all, the Dark Mark. I'm sorry Barty, but telling you seemed… crass, somehow. Since it was only a possibility we didn't want to worry you."

Barty shrugged through the vague fog of nausea and dissociation and leaned back in his chair because the sandwich he'd just eaten didn't sit well with him anymore. 

"Do they… want to get rid of the Mark? Those that got it during the last war I mean," Sirius asked Lucius, stealing glances towards Barty. 

"That's my best guess," Lucius answered. "But they won't find a way. I don't know a _lot_ about them but what I do know is that the arithmancy somehow combines ancient magical slave-tattoos with the Protean Charm amongst other things. Slave brandings are made to not be removed." Here, he turned to Barty. "I also think that removing your arm entirely was a test as well, Barty. The way I know the Dark Lord, simply cutting the arm off won't remove the link. That's too easy." 

"Wasn't easy at all," Barty grumbled but perked up a little nonetheless. "It does extend down to the bone… Maybe it spreads through the marrow?" Maybe the link wasn't _ fully _ gone? He'd have to get the diary from Harry and get Tom to do some tests. Maybe there still was _ something _? "In any case, they won't get any information from me about the state of the link." 

"But how did you find all of this out, Lord Malfoy?" Harry asked. "You said you only asked your mother-in-law to confirm what you've already found out. Won't people know we're onto them?" 

"You underestimate me, Heir Potter, and please—call me Lucius. The trick is not to ask the questions yourself if you can, at all, avoid it. Even my _ dear _ mother-in-law won't remember our conversation." 

Barty smiled crookedly. "You did always have a knack for Obliviation spells, didn't you?" 

"One of my many talents," Lucius replied with an almost uncharacteristic wink. "I have already had quite a net of informants, of course, and I've mobilised the forces, so to speak. There are many of us who are still loyal, Barty, even if you still think of us as traitors. Narcissa and I have started spreading rumours through various channels and I am reaping the rewards now."

Here, Lucius took another gulp from his coffee mug. 

"It all started getting hot when I received information that the reporter you talked about has a bit of a reputation for going where the galleons are." 

"Hawthorne?" Barty rolled his eyes. "And here I thought we'd found a reporter with integrity." 

"That day in the ministry, he was sent there to watch you."

"How do you know?" 

"I had some people interview him," Lucius shrugged. "He doesn't remember a thing but he would have been a little sore a couple days afterwards. An anonymous contact paid him well to get in your good graces. He even went to South Africa on Rosier money before your big interview and tried to trace your steps but there weren't any apart from your name in some alumni plagues."

"That was before they'd confirmed first hand I was not Mr. Hornby?" 

"Yes. The interview here was used to make sure some of your characteristics were the same as those of Barty Crouch Jr. And apparently, Hawthorne did the tour you did and noticed the only facts about your homeland you talked about were mentioned in there."

"We didn't expect anyone to dig so deep," Sirius sighed, shoulders slumped. "But now that they know I guess it's too late anyway. There's no way of knowing who they've told already." 

"Damn it," Barty cursed, fists balled. This gesture, at least, felt right with both hands. "We should have stayed under the radar." 

"No use crying over spilt potions," Lucius shrugged. "Continuing where I left off—I don't know how you plan to resurrect him but I need to know whether anyone else might know?" 

"I'm—probably, yes. Sirius and Harry know but they didn't blap obviously. Other than that, well, Lord Voldemort might have given others the same knowledge he gave me? Nott doesn't know but I'd always imagined your father Abraxas might have known. Did he ever say anything to you?"

"He only said to keep the dungeon closed if I knew what was good for me," Lucius shrugged. "But I know you were in there sometime and I also know someone else knew you were in there. I suspect someone from Rosier's accomplices knows. Lord Lestrange maybe?" 

Sirius shook his head and knocked on the table. "Let's forget all that for some time. The most important things first: what are we going to do about Lord Rosier and how much of a threat are he and his followers for us at the time?" 

"He's not a terribly big threat," Lucius replied immediately. "Those who do his bidding are mostly those who didn't hold much power under the Dark Lord's reign. He does have Fenrir Greyback on his side which is a bit of a concern but Greyback would always choose the stronger wizard if it came down to it. I have… already made it clear to my associates that things are moving along and even those that had been tentatively thinking of adding their weight to Lord Rosier's campaign are reconsidering." Here, Lucius stopped and seemed to think about something for a while before baring his forearm. "It's darkened some. Not as it was before of course but… it lends credibility to my veiled hints." 

Barty felt a pang of… something in his chest because even if there was a dormant link somewhere it wasn't enough to let him experience the darkening of the mark. 

"Who's with you?" Sirius asked when Barty didn't speak. "Or, well, us I guess." 

"Of the important families, Avery, Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Rowle and the Dolohovs. Much rests on the Lestranges. If we could get old Lord Lestrange to renounce Lord Rosier, this ill-advised coup would be over as quick as it began."

"Not as long as both his heirs are in Azkaban," Sirius scoffed. 

Lucius' gaze became keen. "Exactly." Here, his eyes turned towards Barty. "We'd only need to publicly acquit them." 

Sirius shook his head. "What? How are we supposed to do _ that _? They've been sentenced already and they confessed during the trial!"

Barty got up by violently shoving his chair backward. "Absolutely not, Lucius! I won't besmirch my own memory any more than it already has been!" 

"Wait, you want Barty to confess?" Sirius was on his feet in an instant. "Apart from logistics alone, why would anyone believe him? The Lestranges are known for their heinous acts!" 

"Bellatrix is, not Rodolphus or Rabastan," Lucius replied coolly, locking eyes with Barty. "How much are you prepared to give to resurrect him?" 

"That's not fair," Harry interjected, getting up as well. "Barty has already lost so much and that would lose him any chance he'd have left of living as himself! He can't stay Alfred Hornby forever!" 

"No," Lucius replied, still sitting elegantly in his chair, black eye and all, while Sirius, Barty and Harry were on their feet in various states of distress. "Which is why he will inhabit another well-known identity that allows for respect and entrance into society's higher echelons." 

"And you already have everything planned out?" Sirius sounded doubtful.

Harry looked like he was wavering between righteous indignation and being intrigued whereas Barty merely plopped back into his chair and buried his face in his hands. 

"I know exactly what you have in mind, Lucius, and I… I hate you so much," he groaned weakly and knew that, despite all, this was maybe the best bet they had. 

He could practically hear the smugness oozing out of Lucius' voice. "Alright. Here's how we're going to do this…" 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all know what's comiNG—


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright hear me out—  
The parents among you will know what it's like when your kid starts daycare. Germs. Germs everywhere! So yeah, we're sick aaaall the time at the moment :(  
Buuut the next chapter is also done already because I've been very productive the past week!

"Can we talk?" 

"Go away, Sirius." 

"Seriously, Barty, we need to talk. You've been avoiding me whenever I try to talk to you about… about the thing that happened back in January and if there's one thing I learned during my therapy and rehabilitation, it's that you need to give a voice to your emotions so they don't eat you up from the inside."

Barty briefly looked up from where his face was buried in his pillows to see Sirius standing in his doorway with a sincere if slightly queasy smile on his face. 

He sighed but beckoned Sirius in anyway. 

"Lucius left. He told me to tell you again that he's sorry but that it's really the best for everyone involved before he left. Greater good, yada yada, you know the drill." Sirius sat down on the edge of his bed and put a warm hand on Barty's shoulder. "How are you holding up with everything? And don't give me the 'I'm fine, Sirius!' thing with the eye roll. You're not fine." 

"Of course I'm not fine," Barty admitted, rolling on his side to be able to look at Sirius properly. "I just… I don't even know what to think anymore. It's all been a bit much, what with Tom and the Carrows and, and the whole Rosier thing." 

"Oh, by the way, Lucius said Rosier got Fenrir Greyback on his side as well and some other seedy—no, nonono, enough about all that. You. Is there anything I can do to help? I could make you your favourite food? Or we can get Harry and watch one of these silly movies he liked so much back in the flat?" 

"I don't want Harry to see me like this," Barty declined. "Bad enough that I can't shield him from this shitshow. Hell, bad enough _ he _ was the one to save my life when I should be the one protecting him." 

"I'm still incredibly sorry about that Barty." Sirius ran his hands through his hair and looked into the distance. For a second or two, he was all hollow eyes and gaunt cheeks again. Barty blinked and Sirius was back to normal. "I can't help but feel like I failed you. Both of you…" 

There was a heavy silence between them until Barty decided to break it. 

"Do you… still think about Azkaban?" he asked cautiously. 

Sirius sighed and rolled his eyes a little but it looked fond rather than annoyed. "Of course I do, Barty. As do you. You can never forget this place. Only… accept that you spent time there and try to move on with your life." 

Barty reached out his hand and Sirius took it. Just like—

"Your wrists were a lot bonier back in the day," Sirius commented drily. 

"I was only a kid," Barty shrugged. "And the fare in Azkaban was bad on the best days… I wonder what Rodolphus and Rabastan will be like once we get them out. If we get them out, that is. They've been in there longer than even you and they don't have animagus forms to protect their minds."

"Broken probably," Sirius shrugged. "I don't care about them, to be honest. I'll only use my political power to get them out because it's the best thing for us at the moment."

"Because we need them to get the cup."

"Yes. Though Lucius doesn't know that and for him it's mostly so Lestrange stops supporting Rosier once he has his heirs back. But getting a horcrux out of this sweetens the deal somewhat." 

Barty rolled over some more until he was on his back and shuffled up to lean against the headboard. 

"Are you sad we won't be able to get your cousin out?" 

"Bellatrix?" Sirius snorted and shook his head. "Azkaban is the only place she belongs. She was so smitten with the Dark Lord that she committed acts so heinous I can't even think about them. She's a sadist and she was… a bully to me when we were younger. Frank and Alice were such good and kind people… And you're sure Rodolphus and Rabastan didn't do it?" 

"They were under the thumb of that banshee," Barty shrugged. "Stood watch, they did. Without her, they'll be pliant as can be. I'm sure they'll support us. Or at least get us the cup. Rabastan and me were friends." 

"Were Rabastan and Regulus friends?" 

Barty flinched. "Yes… they were." 

"Sorry, Barty, I didn't meant to remind you that you… Fuck," Sirius sighed and crawled over to sit next to him. 

Sirius' arm around his shoulders was warm and a welcome weight to ground him against the turmoil his world had been cast into. Barty burrowed closer into Sirius' side and snaked an arm around the man's waist. 

"I know… I appreciate it. One of the only good decisions I made, freeing you. Only second to taking Harry away from those dreadful people." It was soothing to listen to Sirius' heart beating under his ear. "I will need your help with the next horcrux. I'm not good enough yet with casting magic with my right hand." 

"Oh? You're already planning on going after the next one?" Barty felt Sirius go tense beside him. 

He shrugged a little. "Lord Rosier may only be the first to try and stop us. Magical Britain has a power vacuum whenever a Dark Lord is vanquished, you know? We need to act fast lest another upstart Dark Lord makes an entrance." 

"Huh, good thinking, I guess. Where are we going?" 

"A little cave somewhere at the coast… and we're not going alone." It was a good thing Sirius couldn't see the murderous glint in Barty's eyes. "It's high time I made my peace with a particularly impolite walrus." 

-o-

Harry was curled up in an armchair in front of the fireplace and it was all very nice and comfortable, except his head was spinning and he didn't feel comfortable at all—he felt restless! 

_ And then Lucius said that he knows someone who knows a master runesmith and that the master runesmith is going to make a custom talisman to alter Barty's appearance so he looks like Sirius' missing brother Regulus! _

_ I understand Lucius' reasoning but that's a really big sacrifice to make. How does he expect Barty's confession from supposedly nine years ago to fool anyone? _

_ He said as long as the Wizengamot gets to vote on it, it will pass inspection. He's got them in his pocket and even Lestrange and those close to him will vote in favour of it. There are ways to test for magical signature, apparently? Barty only needs to write the confession himself and Lucius will take care of the rest. _

_ That sounds dubious. Where will he have people find it? _

_ His old room at his family's house. Addressed to his father, apparently? Except they will say that Crouch Sr never found it because he didn't want to enter his son's bedroom after he found out he was a death eater. Crouch has been dead for enough years now with no known heirs that the ministry can seize his estate. _

_ And then you will just reveal Barty as Regulus Black? _

_ Yeah. That way, what wind Rosier had in his sails will be lost because people will think he's been lying about Barty being alive and without a mark, no one will be able to prove that Regulus was a death eater. We'll just say that he was hiding out in South Africa until he saw the call looking for a tutor for me and answered it. At least that's the plan. _

_ Hm. What about Cygnus? _

_ He owes Lucius a big favour apparently but I don't know what that's about. Druella has been Obliviated by Lucius. I thought he was just a dandy, you know, but he can be really scary. _

_ My friend Abraxas, his father, is the same way. You'd think he's all prim and proper, a dignified young Pureblood heir, but he's all broiling darkness and deep pits underneath. Or, well— _ _ was _ _ , I suppose. _

_ Like you? _

_ Like us. _

_ Hm. _ [He paused.] _ I think it will all work out. _

_ A bold plan, no doubt. You are lucky to have capable co-conspirators. _

_ I wouldn't call them conspirators, Tom… _

_ You are planning to wrongfully release two convicted criminals from Azkaban. I'd say that counts as conspiracy, my dear. _

_ We need them free, though. I don't think it's that bad if you really, really need it. We need the cup and Lord Lestrange's support, and this is the only way to get both with minimal casualties. _

_ A utilitarian, Harry? How droll. _

_ I don't know what that word means. _

_ A utilitarian is someone who wants to maximise happiness for as many people as possible. _

_ I see. Even if some people end up empty-handed? A minority? _

_ Exactly. _

_ Are you a utilitarian too? _

_ I'm more of an opportunist. I'm selfish. I never want to be in the minority. Not ever again. _

_ Neither do I, Tom. We've been through enough when we were younger, don't you think? _

_ Yes, dear Harry. Now our time has come to be on the winning side. _

_ Thanks for listening to my silly worries, Tom. _

_ They're not silly, Harry. It's what I'm here for—to be your friend and to cheer you up when you're feeling down. _

Harry grinned at the diary and stroked over its spine before closing it and slipping it into a pocket. He felt better already. He always did after talking to Tom. 

He thought back over what they'd talked about and wondered if he truly was dark. He didn't believe he was _ particularly _ dark, but then again, he didn't believe _ Tom _ was particularly dark and Tom had killed the Carrows without thinking twice. 

Staring into the flames, he considered that Barty had killed that Lupin guy and that his aunt was slowly dying in the cellar and that Barty had also promised to seek vengeance against his uncle. 

With a shrug, Harry pulled the thick Arithmancy book he was currently reading into his lap. If being dark meant protecting or avenging those close to him he probably was dark after all. It didn't feel like a momentous realisation at the moment but something scratching at the back of his mind told him it might be one, after all. 

-o-

There was a suspicious stillness in the air.

Barty was out in the woods, enjoying his last day as himself. Or trying to. About half an hour earlier, a package from Lucius had arrived, carrying a talisman not unlike the one he had been wearing for over a year now.

Unlike that one, though, this new one was going to turn his life completely on its head—even more so than it had already been upended, in any case. 

Barty couldn't help pouting at the thought. He'd been looking forward to being himself again in some far-off future where his master had cleared his name but those dreams seemed so far away now. It was silly, being this stand-offish when all he'd ever wanted to do was serve his master. After all, this was the best course of action for what they were planning and yet… 

Hadn't he given enough? 

His left fist collided with a tree trunk but there was no pain except a vague pounding in his elbow from the forceful impact. Useless. 

Even the woods would give him no solace now. 

When he returned to his room, Barty tore the talisman from the package he had returned it to and put it almost viciously around his neck. Instantly, he could feel the tall-tale trickle of ghostly fingers all over his body as the magic rearranged flesh and bone. 

It was almost too much, turning around to peer at the mirror, but Barty did so anyway and fell to his knees in an instant. 

You had to give it to Lucius. If he said he had someone to do a job and do it well, there was more truth to it than people probably gave him credit for. 

Barty looked into Regulus Black's face—slightly older than he remembered it but no less aristocratic, no less handsome. Shaking fingers traced the high cheekbones, the straight nose and stayed resting on those finely-curved lips. The pale grey eyes were beginning to fill with tears.

While he wasn't really surprised to see the Regulus in the mirror cry, he was surprised by the force of the sobs shaking his body. Here was a face he hadn't seen in close to a decade, a trusted face, a friend, and from now on he would see it every day for the rest of his life but it would give him no comfort. 

-o-

**#The Confession of Bartemius Crouch Jr#**

**Lestrange Brothers Innocent?**

By Ignaz Hawthorne

A shocking revelation has thrown a conviction from almost eight years ago into question. Three years after former Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch Snr's, death of wizard flu, his assets have been seized by the ministry due to a lack of heirs. 

From trusted sources, your faithful reporter has found out the following shocking development: His son, convicted death eater Bartemius Crouch Jr, left a manifesto in his room detailing how he used the _ Imperious _curse on Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, only sons and heirs of Lord Lestrange. 

Read more about this scandal on page 3.

-o-

Barty made a face and fussed at his clothes for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Whereas Alfred Hornby had been built as slim in stature as him, Regulus had been (was?) broader. Broader shoulders, broader chest—suddenly, his shirts were stretching in ways he didn't even know were possible. 

He finally stopped his fidgeting when Sirius arrived in the sitting room. As always these days, there was a brief flicker of confusion rushing over Sirius' face like a ghost but it was gone in a second. 

"Hey, Reg," he greeted, clapping Barty's shoulder. "Ready to face the hounds?" 

"I suppose I should be," Barty replied, shoulders sagging. "But to be honest, I'm not quite sure that this is the best idea. Facing all these important people head-on like this? I haven't even gotten used to my ridiculously long feet." 

"It's just a soirée, brother dear," Sirius winked, leading him over to the fireplace. "I've been going to these for months all on my own because it's expected of me and you finally don't have an excuse not to accompany me anymore." 

"And Lucius and Cantankerus are expecting us, of course," Barty repeated because this wasn't the first time they'd had this argument. 

"Exactly. Now smile, Regulus, and be a good little Pureblood." 

These words out of Sirius' mouth had Barty smirk despite himself and he felt like maybe, just maybe, meeting stuffy Pureblooded Lords wouldn't prove to be such a terrible experience anyway.

When they arrived in Lord Parkinson's grand cottage, Barty had to suppress a snort because, of all the places he'd have called a cottage, this one definitely wouldn't have made the cut. 

The lavishly decorated Floo room they'd arrived in was as big as the whole sitting room in his parents' house had been. A house elf immediately took care of their coats while another greeted them and led them towards an informal meeting room. 

About two dozen men in expensive robes were already mingling around high tables, smoking cigars and drinking firewhiskey from crystal tumblers. It seemed to Barty like a scene taken out of one of the Sherlock Holmes stories Harry had liked so much when he was younger. 

"Ah, Heir Black," Lord Parkinson greeted loudly and excused himself from his group to come up to them. "It's so good of you to make it. And this is your brother who's been all over the grapevine, yes? We've met under your other persona, of course, but let me introduce myself properly again, shall I? I am Lord Parkinson and it's an honour to make your acquaintance, Scion Regulus Black."

"The honour is all mine, I assure you, Lord Parkinson," Barty replied politely, shaking the man's proffered hand. "Please, call me Regulus. After all, we were acquaintances once before, when I used to work at the ministry." 

_ When we were both death eaters. _

"It's good to have you back in Britain, Regulus, and please, call me Philip." Barty noticed how all conversations had stopped in favour of listening in to their conversation. "Quite the story my dear Pansy told me. Alfred Hornby, tutor extraordinaire, actually Regulus Black in disguise? Pray tell why the deception, Regulus!" 

Barty bashfully inclined his head. Lord Parkinson was in on it, of course—not his _ real _real identity, but the story they'd concocted for Regulus' absence. 

"During the war… expectations were so high, Philip," Barty answered slowly, head shaking. "I'm afraid I was too young. I got cold feet and, this much is true, I spirited myself away to South Africa. I stayed there and lived a solitary life, a humble life, until the few contacts I'd made showed me the tutoring call for a British wizarding child made by Lord Black himself."

"Homesickness got the best of you, young man?" Lord Parkinson's face was full of sympathy and understanding. Taking his role seriously, very good. "It did… I knew my grandfather was old and—I just wanted to go home but without all the political implications. Grandfather knew, of course." 

"Yet now, here you are, revealed at last. What changed?" 

"Many things. Most of all, me." Here, Barty didn't hide that he knew that everyone was listening and looked back towards the assorted faces curiously returning his steady gaze. "I've since realised that hiding away at home is basically the same as hiding away in another country. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black needs me, and my brother needs me as well. Thus, I've decided to… do away with my own sensibilities and step back into polite society."

The assorted Lords seemed to like that sentiment as there was a lot of rings clinking on glasses. 

"And of course, the attack on my person was the catalyst I needed to get things in motion," he admitted. "Harry has become as much of a godson to me as he is to Sirius, and I believe that I will be better equipped to protect him from those that would do him harm if I were to be my own self. Thus, Regulus Arcturus Black was… reborn." 

After that tiring and uncomfortable monologue, he let himself be led over towards a table where Lords Cornfoot, Greengrass, Bulstrode and Nott were gathered and was relieved to feel Sirius' steadying presence next to him. 

"The Black brothers, united once more," Lord Greengrass beamed at them and Barty remembered with a weird sort of twisting sensation in his stomach that the man had been his mother's younger brother—his uncle. "It's very good to have you back in our ranks, Regulus. You don't mind if I call you Regulus? I _ have _ been acquainted with Mr Hornby, after all. In fact, he's been teaching my daughter for a year now. You may call me Gawain, if you please." 

"Thank you, Gawain," Barty replied sheepishly. "I really am sorry for the deception." 

"No, don't be," Lord Greengrass shook his head. "All perfectly understandable, what with those… unsavoury rumours about your person going around after the war." 

"Yes, I _ am _ glad I have missed the witch hunts," Barty laughed, reaching for a tumbler of whiskey to calm his nerves. With his right hand. Since Regulus was right-handed. Weird. "If I'd known that they've incarcerated my brother—" 

"I'm free now, Regulus, no need for bitter thoughts," Sirius calmed him, his smooth voice taking the focus off of Barty. "Grandfather made sure to get me out, and I couldn't be happier about it. And, it seems like Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange might have the same good fortune, too. Is Lord Lestrange coming as well today?" 

Lord Parkinson shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Sirius. He begged off today, citing… a great state of upheaval in his estates." 

"Having two heirs returned to the fold would do that to you," Sirius nodded. 

"We would know," Barty shrugged and the Lords laughed. 

"But are they really innocent?" Old Lord Cornfoot looked torn. "Bartemius Crouch Jr's confession seemed genuine enough, we know by now that he was a fanatic, but then again, we'd heard the same thing about the Lestrange brothers." 

Sirius leaned forward conspiratorially. "Though it pains me to say it, it was mostly my cousin doing the dirty work. I think Grandfather might disinherit her… we'll see about what the future brings." 

The table was a little quiet after that until Lord Bulstrode raised his voice. "My daughter speaks highly of your classes, Regulus. Is there any chance you will continue them until the summer?" 

"Oh, it would be cruel not to," Barty laughed. "I've grown fond of them. It will be hard enough, seeing the children off to Hogwarts." 

"Hear, hear," Lord Nott agreed, brows drawn. "He drives me mad, sometimes, but by Merlin, I will miss my boy. That big, old house will be poorer without him in it." 

"You are always welcome at ours," Lord Bulstrode offered. "Nancy loves having guests over, and she's always spoken fondly of your ability to eat a second helping of whatever the elves cook up and still stay so thin!" 

While the Lords were busy talking, Sirius steered them over towards Lucius who was talking to two other men Barty knew from way back when. Lord Avery who he hadn't seen since the war and Lord Mulciber, another one of those who'd lost a son—though not his only one. 

Lucius had told them that Avery and Mulciber were partial to Lord Rosier's campaign and that it was crucial they sway them as early as possible. 

What he actually meant was that, until the great revelation half a week ago, they'd been of the impression that Alfred Hornby was Barty Crouch Jr. 

"Regulus Black," Lord Avery grinned toothily, shaking his hand a little too hard, "how good to see you again. It's been some time, has it not?" 

"Yes, Lord Avery. Almost ten years now? The years have been kind to you," Barty replied. 

And they had been. Lord Avery was a handsome man, full head of hair slicked back artfully and dressed just as elegantly as Lucius. 

"Much obliged," the man replied with a pleased little grin. "They were good years, mostly, after the chaos of the war was dealt with. We missed you, after you'd left." 

A silent accusation. _ Where were you? Your brothers and sisters needed you, and you abandoned us during the war. Deserter. _

"I was but a kid and I'm afraid my… silly little fears and emotions got the better of me," he sighed, combing a hand through Regulus' silky black hair. "I wish I would have had the courage to stay but I was serving two masters and that's never a good idea." 

"Quite." Lord Avery raised an eyebrow. "That attack on your person, your _ persona,_ is it true that they wanted information about the boy?" 

"No," Barty replied, voice lowered so much the others had to lean in. "They knew I wanted to bring him back. It's almost time now. I'm _very much_ looking forward to being reunited with all my brothers and sisters." 

Avery and Mulciber almost physically recoiled and Barty decided then and there to set the finishing blow. 

"To a bright, new future," he cheered, raising his tumbler and the other gathered Lords echoed his sentiments. Avery and Mulciber decidedly didn't, exchanged a quick glance and motioned at him to lean in once again. 

"Are you having us on, Reg?" Avery grimaced. "You come back, basically from the dead, and just… spring this on us?" 

"I've been preparing for years and I'm very close now."

Mulciber looked down at Barty's arm and grimaced. That's when he realised how much they knew and pushed a little further. 

"I have been dealt a heavy hand, these past couple months, but you know what they say—the maker shall judge them all in the end." With a flourish, he emptied his whiskey and looked over at the buffet. "Say, brother, I'm starving! Why don't we go and see whether Philip's house elves are as good at cooking as Pansy always says?" 

"Certainly," Sirius replied easily and smiled at the two uneasy Lords who knew very well which judging maker Barty was alluding to. "Hard to change the world on an empty stomach." 

Barty could feel Avery's and Mulciber's stares while he and Sirius ate some (admittedly delicious) canapés and was not overly surprised to see the two leave the soirée before he'd even finished his meal. 

He exchanged a grin with Sirius and joined their first group again for some quality male bonding time. 

-o-

There was little in this world that was irreplaceable for Harry. Growing up poor during his formative years had taught him one thing above all others: there is nothing they can't take from you. 

That snake he'd found in the grass who'd liked how warm his trouser pockets were? Gone. Confiscated. Curb-stomped. (That haunting memory had only recently returned.)

A picture he'd drawn in his first week of school? Destroyed. Better than Dudley's. Not wanted here. 

A toy he'd picked up from someone else's trash? Used to hit him over the head with and then thrown away because _ we hate liars and thieves in this household. _

As such, he'd never allowed himself to get too attached to material things, but this? This was _ different. _

"Absolutely not, Harry," Barty told him again with his new and yet so familiar face. He and Sirius looked so alike now. 

"But Barty—" 

Barty was pacing up and down, hands fidgeting, new hand doing some rapid finger movements Harry identified as exercises he'd been doing to get used to the new appendage. 

"It's too dangerous, Harry. You can't!" 

"You do dangerous stuff all the time, Barty!" 

"That's because I _ have _ to, not because I _ want _ to," Barty explained, stopping his pacing and coming over to him.

Harry watched Barty kneel in front of him and open his arms. He threw himself into the warm embrace and felt his throat go thick and his eyes get wet. 

"I should never have let you hang on to the diary for this long, Harry," Barty whispered with his new voice and his breath was warm against Harry's shoulder. "It's my fault. I was too preoccupied with… myself and, and I guess that I was somehow also relieved you had someone to keep you company?" 

Here, Barty took a gentle hold of Harry's shoulders and held him at arm's length to look him in the eye. 

"I know that you like Tom a lot. He's very charming and—" 

"He saved your life! Twice! Once in Little Hangleton and then when we came to free you!" 

"Shh, Harry, shh, I know, it's okay to cry, come here." Barty pulled him back into the warm cocoon of his arms and Harry held onto him, sobbing into the silky fabric of Barty's new robes. "I know, I know, he's very nice to you, to me, and we have a lot to thank him for, but he's… a shadow. A memory. Not a… not a real person…" 

"But I'm a horcrux too," Harry sobbed, angry and sad at the same time. "Are you saying I'm just a memory, a, a _ shadow _ too?" 

He felt Barty sigh and that made him only cry harder. 

"You're a person with a soul shard inside him, Harry. Tom is… _ only _a soul shard." 

Anger won out at this and Harry wiggled out of Barty's arms and wiped his face with his sleeve. "He wants to take my place in the ritual so I don't have to be in danger. Would _just_ _a soul shard _do that? He says my willingness to sacrifice myself and my friendship have shown him how to feel regret and that, that he will unite the soul shards inside _him_ so there's no way that anything can happen to _me_ or _my_ soul shard!"

Barty looked as taken aback by that as Harry had hoped he would be and he felt validated. 

"You can't take the diary away from me! I need him!" 

"But Harry, Dumbledore—" 

"I don't care about Dumbledore anymore, once we get Lord Voldemort back, he will take care of Dumbledore. I just want, I want, I want…" 

The realisation of what Lord Voldemort's return would mean for Tom had Harry start crying again and he felt like a baby and he wanted to scream at Barty but more than anything, he wanted to be held by him and to be offered a perfect solution that would solve all his problems, like Barty always did, but now his new grey eyes were only sad and he looked lost. 

"If you had the choice, Harry—" 

"Tom!" Harry cried immediately and sobbed even harder when he saw Barty's heart break. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry." 

He flung himself back into Barty's arms and felt wetness bloom on his robes. Was Barty crying too? That stopped his own sobs and he could hear Barty softly crying into his shoulder. 

Shame rose in him like a flower. 

"I'm so sorry," he whispered again and hung onto Barty as if he'd vanish if he let go. "I'm so very sorry!" 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius: How can we spread the message that Regulus is alive as quickly as possible? 
> 
> Harry: I have an idea! 
> 
> During the class for Harry and his friends:
> 
> Barty: I'm sorry for not having been honest with you kids, so you're the first to find out: I'm actually Regulus Black, Sirius' brother. Please don't tell anyone yet, we're preparing a press release.
> 
> ~ 1 hour after the kids left ~
> 
> Owls start flooding in, addressed to Regulus Black. 
> 
> Harry: *smug grin*


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tweaked the tags a little aaaand I adjusted the chapter counter. Next week's chapter is also on track! :>
> 
> Can you believe this is almost 80k already?
> 
> I feel so blessed that so many of you are reading this <3

Barty didn't know how long he'd held onto Harry; sweet, innocent, wonderful little Harry who'd managed to break his heart without meaning to. 

"You can keep the diary until the ritual, Harry," he finally whispered. "Just… just promise me you'll take good care of it and don't let anyone know—not even Theo and especially not Draco." 

"I promise," Harry answered, voice heavy. "When will you do the ritual?" 

"Sirius and I will go get the locket this month and once Rodolphus and Rabastan are freed, we'll go talk to them." He leaned back on his haunches and looked at Harry's splotchy face. "Herpo's diary has helped me and filled in some gaps I've only been speculating about until now. I think once we've got all of them, I can start on the final draft. Before you leave for Hogwarts, I'll tell you where to find the last horcrux."

"So maybe you could do the ritual in the winter break?" Harry was trying hard to be brave, Barty could see it. 

"Maybe, if I could just get these runes to work together the way I want them to." Barty pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to tune out the runes and artihmancy formulas dancing in front of his eyes. "I'll need to do a test run once I've collected all the horcruxes in any case. Maybe closer to easter break or even your first summer break? Imbuing all the horcruxes into either you or Tom should be its own ritual. That will be taxing enough."

"A year then," Harry nodded, determined, and gave him a watery smile. 

"Come on," Barty sighed, getting up and taking Harry's hand. "We'll say goodbye to that godfather of yours. He's getting ready for the Wizengamot session and Aunt Cassie should be here by now." 

If Sirius and Cassiopeia noticed that Barty and Harry looked disheveled and like they'd spent their time crying their hearts out when they entered the sitting room, they didn't comment on it.

Cassiopeia came over to them and hugged first Harry and then Barty. When she released him, she looked close to tears like she often did nowadays when she saw him. Apparently, Regulus and her had been very close once. 

"Look at you both, so grown up," she told them, proud smile belying her heavy heart. "My three boys. I'll keep you company during dinner tonight, if that's alright?" 

"You know there's always a place for you, Aunt Cassie," Sirius told her and pulled her into a side-hug. Now that Sirius had filled out a little and wasn't only skin and bone, she was positively dwarfed by him. 

"We'll be sure to try and get some more high Lords on our side before the session to make sure Rodolphus and Rabastan are released," Aunt Cassie promised with a wink. "I'll use the odd morsel or two of classified knowledge I've obtained throughout the years." 

"Blackmail them you mean, ha! You two have fun while we're gone," Sirius grinned and Barty and Harry watched them leave through the Floo. 

"I'll go read a little in my room, Barty," Harry said after a moment or two and left with his head hanging down. 

Barty wanted to run after him and make everything better but he didn't even know what to say. His first instinct of keeping the diary away from Harry had been right but then again, he'd never considered the need for keeping _ Harry _ away from the _ diary. _ He probably had himself to blame for that one. 

By the time he surfaced from his thoughts, Harry was long gone and Barty decided to go to the library. Tom being able to absorb the other horcruxes, maybe even without the need for a ritual, sounded too good to be true. It begged research. 

After all, he was just a shade and not the master soul that could become one with his horcruxes again if it felt regret. Or could he? Had they maybe given the soul shard that was Tom Riddle too much power already? Power over them? Power over so many dead or dying people's… life essence? Soul? 

Barty slowed on his way towards the library. What _ was _ Tom actually taking from them? 

Unfortunately, in his scholarly haste to find out just how Tom gained energy by draining his victims of whatever he drained them of, he quite forgot to think about how much of an influence Tom had on Harry after just three months right this moment. 

-o-

As a surprise to absolutely no one who knew how the Wizengamot operated and who held the most power there, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange were released from Azkaban that same day. 

The next day, it was all over the papers. And the day after that. And basically the rest of the week, too.

Barty cringed whenever he read about eye witnesses attesting to the utter horribleness of Bartemius Crouch Jr during the Wizarding War. He _ knew _ none of this was true because they all had worn masks everywhere and none of the people speaking out in the Prophet had been targets. 

Then again, he _ had _ done terrible things back then and he'd continued doing them and, well, he was pretty sure he was going to _ continue _ doing them. Additionally, once his Lord was back he'd probably get even worse so he probably shouldn't mope about random random people slandering his name. 

After all, what were those further stains upon his birth family's name if not just another sacrifice? Sighing and putting the Prophet in the trash where it belonged, he made his way over to Sirius' study to celebrate their victory and to make some plans about the cave and the initial contacting of the Lestrange brothers. 

-o-

Harry was a boy on a _ mission. _Barty was with Sirius and they'd had a bottle of Firewhiskey on the table when Harry had surreptitiously walked past. 

The library was in another part of the manor, so if he was quiet enough, everything should work out just fine. 

He adjusted his invisibility cloak a little so he wouldn't trip over the fabric and suppressed the urge to giggle. Sneaking around was a lot more fun if there was no one in mortal danger. 

When he arrived, he pulled out the diary and his quill and opened the pages with his fingers trembling in anticipation. 

_ I'm in the library! Can you come out? _

The pages of the diary were bathed in light almost immediately and then Tom was just standing there, right in front of him. 

Harry grinned, threw the invisibility cloak off and launched himself at Tom. Though surprised if his gasp was anything to go by, the other boy caught him just fine and even returned the hug! 

Harry was ecstatic. 

"It's so good to see you again, Tom! Properly, I mean!" 

"Indeed," Tom answered with a small smile before he looked around. "So this is the fabled Black library? I've heard _ of _ it, of course." 

"It should have what we're looking for. And if it doesn't, we should be able to find it in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library come autumn. I'm so glad you get to come!" 

Tom nodded slowly, walking over towards one of the bookshelves. "I just hope they haven't gotten rid of _ everything _ Dark in there under Dumbledore's stint as headmaster." 

Harry frowned at the mention of Dumbledore's name and stuck to Tom's side. "What are we looking for, specifically? Can I help?" 

"Certainly," Tom promised. "You'll be my little assistant. We need to know more about regaining strength and… soul magic, I should think." 

"Barty has done _ tons _ of research on soul magic already," Harry reminded Tom, looking over towards the mountain that was Barty's notes next to the mountain that was the books Barty was referencing. 

"We can't use his things, he'll notice," Tom declined. "It may look like chaos but he probably knows exactly where that one slip of parchment is that he used that one time to jot down just that one arithmancy formula. And… we need a different branch of knowledge. We might be able to find something in a book that will benefit _ us _ but that _ he _ couldn't use for his ritual."

"Alright," Harry agreed easily, happy to be included. 

He led Tom over to the short section about soul magic, almost picked bare by Barty, and then strode off to look for something that would strengthen spirits that wanted to return to the land of the living. He gasped. Maybe he could look into _ ghosts? _

Tom looked up for a second when he made a sound but Harry merely smiled excitedly at him and ran as quietly as possible over to another section of the library. 

_ 'How to Exorcise a Ghost', _ no, not that. _ 'Living with Your Deceased Spouse - A Guide by Molly Meadows', _well, not quite, no. Unfortunately, that was all there was in the 'Magical Beasts' category about ghosts. Harry grimaced. But maybe… 

"Tom?" 

"Mh?" 

"Are there many ghosts in Britain outside of Hogwarts?" 

"Hm? Well, no, a very large majority of them are in—" Tom looked up from the book he'd been poring over and looked at Harry with an enraptured expression. "Oh, you brilliant boy."

Harry preened and walked over towards a book he knew well by now: _ 'Hogwarts: A History'. _ "I don't think this existed when you were in school but it has _ so much _ information about Hogwarts! I haven't read all of it yet but I read all of the register and there's also something about the ghosts. Maybe whatever it is that keeps the ghosts, well, alive, could keep you powered as well?"

"Ambient magic," Tom murmured, stroking over the cover of the giant tome Harry was laboriously holding out toward him. "Of course." 

Tom took the offered book and nodded decidedly. 

"Will this help us?" Harry asked and giggled when Tom used his free hand to pat him on the head. 

"I think it just might. Come, we're done here, there's much I need to explain."

It was exciting to share the invisibility cloak with Tom while they tiptoed back to Harry's room. Thankfully, Sirius' study wasn't in the same corridor as their rooms and not on the way back from the library either. 

When the door to his bedroom finally closed behind them, Harry released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and pulled the invisibility cloak off them. 

"What did you want to tell me? Did you realise something?" 

"I did," Tom grinned conspiratorially and sat down on the floor in the middle of Harry's room. "The ghosts. Hogwarts. There's lots of ambient magic because of all the leylines that are crossing there."

Harry joined his friend on the floor. "And we can use that ambient magic? Maybe like we're using Aunt Petunia to power you at the moment?" 

"That's what I want to try and find out, at least," Tom agreed, leafing through the big tome. "If we can find out how ghosts draw their power, maybe we can use that power for me, too." 

"Don't they have unfinished business? Or is that just muggle stories?" Harry gnawed a little on his lower lip and crawled around the book towards Tom so they could look at it at the same time.

"That's part of it, yes. And I guess not just _ anybody _ would leave themselves behind like that," Tom shrugged. "Let's find out more about ghosts first." 

_ 'A peculiar sort of novelty about Hogwarts Castle is its abundance of ghosts haunting the corridors and classrooms. As it stands, most ghosts that exist in our world are at home in Great Britain and of those, most spend their afterlife in Hogwarts. _

_ Per a decree by the Spirit Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, ghosts must remain at their place of death. _

_ You might ask yourself now whether Hogwarts has seen a greater number of deaths than any other place on this good Earth but fear not—nothing could be further from the truth. Hogwarts is and has always been a safe haven for every magical man, woman or child. As such, the death rate is actually rather low when compared to the national average among dwellings of wizardborn. _

_ Why then are there so many ghosts living in Hogwarts? The founders, may their souls rest ever in peace, were very conscientious when choosing where to put their school. The land Hogwarts now stands on is of great occult importance and its ambient power may only be rivalled by Stonehenge if one were to be able to measure it. _

_ The reason is simple: Hogwarts Castle stands right atop a large intersection of ley lines which are running everywhere on our planet. As we know, ley lines are especially prevalent in Great Britain when compared with the rest of the world and while they can't be measured by conventional means, we know from their effect where their most powerful nodal points must lie. _

_ Since ghosts are imprints of souls left behind after the body has succumbed, they need some source of power to sustain themselves. After this brief excursion, it should be clear that the ghosts of Hogwarts can somehow draw from the power that lies slumbering beneath the castle. _

_ Some of the most famous of the Hogwarts ghosts include the four house ghosts who—' _

Harry didn't get further than that because Tom was on his feet in a flurry of motion, pacing. 

"Imprints of souls… yes. Parts of souls. Souls drawing from ambient magicks…" The boy was muttering to himself and Harry drew his knees up and watched him. "With the right ritual, the right sacrifices…" 

Harry yawned because it was getting late but he wanted to stay up and help Tom so he shook his head a little and got up too. His scar was beginning to tickle a little while Tom was furiously thinking and it was getting uncomfortable. Was he _ this _ tired? 

"If you need some kind of soul strength, can't you just absorb enough power from other people? A dark ritual on Hogwarts grounds might alert someone," Harry theorised. "The book also says somewhere else that there are wards that might detect those kind of things." 

Tom looked at him and stopped his pacing. His eyes were piercing. 

"Every time you write into the diary to speak to me, Harry, there is the potential of you putting something of yourself into it. I can feel it, reaching out to me." Tom's voice was strangely flat and the other boy stalked closer to him. Harry supposed it might have been frightening if it had been anyone else. "And every time, _ every time, _I refuse to take it…" 

They were very close now and Tom put his hand under Harry's chin to make him look up. Harry was not a small boy for his age, not anymore, but Tom was still very much taller than him. 

"Maybe there _ is _ another way…" Tom continued, an intense look in his dark eyes. "You could lend the diary to someone. Tell them it's a special book for homesick children. A book that can help them sort out their feelings, a friend to listen to and not judge them…" 

"And you'd… take all their power? Their life?" His scar was beginning to ache something fierce now and it was hard to keep his eyes open. 

"And then I could be with you forever, and we could still do the ritual, just with one soul piece less."

"But wouldn't that kill the other kid?" Something in Harry told him that this was not a very nice thing to do, but Tom not existing anymore was also not a nice thought which made his breath catch in his throat and his heart ache.

"Doing the ritual the way Barty has planned it will kill _ me, _ Harry," Tom reminded him and Harry felt tears pool in his eyes. "You are also a horcrux, aren't you? And yet you get to _ live _ past the ritual?" 

Harry's tears spilled over at that and ran down his cheeks freely, pooling on Tom's fingers still holding his chin. He wanted to tell Tom that Barty had told him that he wasn't _ just _ a horcrux but rather a boy with a horcrux inside him, yet it felt cruel to downplay Tom's inherent humanity like this. 

"I don't want you to die," Harry finally whispered, voice hoarse and he wished the awful thrumming in his scar would stop. 

"And I don't want to have to lose being at your side, dear Harry," Tom promised and released his chin to pull him into a hug. "We're both horcruxes, you and I, and we need to stick together if we want to succeed with our plans." 

Finally, safely engulfed in Tom's arms, Harry felt warm and content and his scar stopped hurting so bad. 

"I'd like that, you and me sticking together," Harry yawned. "I'll do it, Tom. For you. But I'm not going to give it to any of my friends, like Theo or Daphne. Maybe Draco."

"Not Draco," Tom laughed gently. "We need him still. Someone else, someone not many people will miss. We'll see when we get there. There's so much I will show you in my castle, just you wait…" 

-o-

Barty was relaxing back in the settee, lounging more than he'd done in months. With the tension draining away from him due to good spirit(s) and good company, he felt at ease for maybe the first time since—no, better not think about that. 

He dredged his consciousness back up and tried to make sense of what story Sirius was in the middle of telling. 

"—when old Griselda Marchbanks, all spit and indignation, said that we'd need a majority to even be able to _ have _ the vote on the Lestranges in the first place." The contents of Sirius' tumbler of firewhiskey were sloshing around dangerously as he gestured extensively. "And then there was the bloody vote and the next one - the actual one - had it all approved by a _ landslide, _Reg, can you imagine?" 

Aah, yes. The Wizengamot session. 

"Rodolphus and Rabastan were well-liked in their youth," Barty mused. "Lord Lestrange used to flaunt them everywhere—his two perfect Pureblood sons." 

"Just like us," Sirius laughed, smile a little too wide and Barty felt a pang in his chest. 

Sirius must have noticed because he emptied his tumbler, put it on the table with an uncoordinated donk! and rested his face in his hands. 

"This is so fucking hard, Barty," he groaned. "I'm, I know we have to do this, but when we're alone, can we, can we just…?" 

"Of course," Barty agreed haltingly, removing the fortified necklace and putting the crystal on the low table. "I'm, I'm terribly sorry, Sirius. I know I could never replace him but—"

"What? No!" Sirius vehemently shook his head and grabbed Barty's hand. "That's not, no! I'm, I just, I got so used to you and I like you and I miss you and, ugh, bollocks! This is all so hard… Sometimes I wish I could just go hide somewhere, retire someplace warm and sunny, but then I remember that I'm not twenty years old anymore and have actual obligations now."

"I get that, I really do," Barty laughed, patting Sirius' arm. "I guess this is what growing up is all about. Responsibilities. It's what they always taught us in school, isn't it? Funny how we laughed back then and now we know they were actually right about all this… but for what it's worth, I like you too." 

Sirius snorted and glared into the cracking fire. It was late April now but the evenings were still chilly enough to warrant a nice fire. 

"You don't get it, Barty," Sirius finally said and turned towards him with an unreadable expression. "I _ really _ like you." 

"Oh…!" Barty answered, eloquent as always. "I'm, you mean, like—wow, I, I don't know what, I mean, I didn't expect this and… "

"I fucked this up, didn't I?" Sirius sounded very raw suddenly and Barty felt pity and affection and _ longing. _ "Here you are, forced to parade around as my dead brother and all I can think of is fucking declaring my _ feelings for you _ first chance I get? Way to _ fucking _ go and keep the family tradition alive, Black!" 

Before Sirius could storm off to mope, Barty grabbed a hold of his arm. 

"I'm, Sirius, what—this came out of nowhere. How did you expect me to react? I'm, just, just give me a second." 

Barty took a deep breath and tried to gather his runaway thoughts. Where should he even start with how messed up he was? 

"There's—things you need to know about me." He wanted to pause there and structure his words a little more but quickly continued when he saw Sirius' gaze turning sad and bitter. "I'm not, I don't do, wow. I'm not into the whole, uh, sex thing. Okay. There. I said it. I don't like people that way. I can love people, I guess, but there's no desire to, you know, _ have sex._"

He'd expected Sirius to be weirded out, to maybe take a couple minutes to compose himself because of Barty's particular brand of (non-)sexual deviance but instead, Sirius looked, above all, relieved and giggled kind of nervously. 

Barty was surprised, to say the least. "Are you… actually pleased by that?" 

In response, Sirius merely reached over, hugged him tightly and almost pulled him into his lap. 

"I'm, uh ever since Azkaban," Sirius started slowly, not letting go of Barty so he couldn't see the man's face. "Things haven't really been… working down there the way I might have wanted them to? I don't know whether it's the trauma or something wrong with my body, and my therapist didn't know either, but the gist of the matter is that, well, little Sirius isn't really cooperative at the moment. Or any moment in the future, maybe?"

Barty was surprised and touched by the trust Sirius must have in him to have told him this and felt himself blush. 

"I appreciate you telling me this," he mumbled into Sirius' neck, quite overwhelmed by the turn the evening had taken. 

He could feel the man's answering blush through the fabric of his shirt and hugged him back a little tighter. 

"Look at us," Sirius snorted into his shoulder. "Rejects in every sense of the word. The dregs of society, convicted criminals, and yet risen into Wizarding Britain's highest echelons." 

"A strange kind of poetry," Barty agreed. "Irony in its purest form. I wonder what kind of demons Rodolphus and Rabastan might bring with them."

Sirius sighed into his shoulder and shook his head a little. 

"Who knows… fuck, I'm so glad to have this off my chest." Sirius leaned back and looked into Barty's eyes. "Thanks for not thinking I'm some kind of freak." 

"And why should I," Barty shrugged and laughed a little. "It's not like you asked for any of this. Also, I'm hardly one to talk."

"Neither did you," Sirius whispered, gently placing a hand on Barty's cheek. "So do you do kisses or..?" 

"No, yeah, I do, yeah," Barty agreed, quite beside himself, and nodded his head enthusiastically. 

They'd cuddled a lot over the past months truth be told but still, this close, Sirius' cologne was a heady sort of sensation that sent a blooming warmth spreading throughout his body. 

He looked into Sirius' eyes, grey and soft and very easy to get lost in and it didn't even enter his mind to become nervous. Sirius was safe and familiar and probably the closest thing he had to a true friend in this world. 

So Barty closed his eyes, leaned forward and sighed when their lips met. At first, it was a little awkward and their noses bumped and their teeth collided but Barty gently took hold of Sirius' face and from then on, it all went alarmingly well. 

When they parted, they were both panting and blushing from more than just Firewhiskey. 

"I… I'm, that was amazing, Barty," Sirius breathed, hiding his face in his hands. "I've been wanting to do that for quite some time."

"I didn't allow myself to entertain the thought," Barty shared with a wry grin. "Never thought anyone might want to—well, that's neither here nor there." 

He was surprised when Sirius' hand wrapped around his and looked at their entwined hands in his lap with a strange feeling in his gut. 

"For what it's worth, Barty—I've got you now, alright? And whatever anyone might have said before, they were wrong. Okay?" 

Barty tried to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat and cleared his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Sirius, I'm… I'm really glad to have you in my life." 

"Same here," Sirius answered and pulled him in close. 

With his head resting on Sirius' chest, the man's arm heavily draped around his shoulders, Barty sighed in contentment and refused to think about the emotional fallout their newfound closeness might have in the future. 

-o-

In the end, Barty didn't need to contact the Lestrange brothers under false pretenses after all. Approximately two weeks after their release, an owl from Rodolphus Lestrange addressed to Regulus Black and asking for a meeting arrived at Black Manor and had Barty and Harry high five over breakfast. 

"That's a relief," Barty sighed, putting the letter next to his pancakes. "Maybe my master gave either Rodolphus or Rabastan the same knowledge he gave me and they want to return the cup of their own accord. Maybe they even want to help with the rest of them!" 

"That would make things easier," Harry smiled. "I'm glad you're starting to become your old self again, Barty. You can finally smile again; properly, I mean. Even if you look different once again." 

Barty grinned at Harry, ducking his head. "Yeah, I'm finally starting to get to the end of the rainbow, you know? Everything's coming together and in about a year from now, I might have my master back."

Though it pained Barty greatly, they had decided not to tell Harry yet about him and Sirius. Not while Barty's role as Regulus was still so fresh and they themselves were unsure about what sort of labels to apply to their… relationship. 

"I'm sure the ritual will go well," Harry reassured him. "And I want to thank you again for letting me hold onto the diary even though you thought it was dangerous. I know the dangers well and I think I'm equipped to deal with them until the ritual. And Tom will help me a great deal in Hogwarts, I should think. Thanks for your trust in me!" 

Barty felt his heart soar and walked around the table to pull Harry into a big hug. 

"You're such a good boy," he told his son in all but blood and held him just a little bit tighter. "You'll do so well in Hogwarts, just you wait. You'll have the time of your life there with all your friends." 

"I'm counting on it," Harry replied, hugging him back. 

When they were done with breakfast, Barty penned a quick answer to Rodolphus. His approximation of Regulus' handwriting, improvised and patched together from old letters and school work, was coming along nicely. His own style of handwriting was almost gone, almost as if it had been cut off together with his arm and while it should have made him bitter maybe, Barty now saw himself above such nonsense. 

He was a tool in his master's resurrection, and he would continue working even if it was the end of him. 

  
  
  
  



	20. Chapter 20

The next day, Rodolphus Lestrange Floo'd to Black manor shortly after breakfast. Barty internally cringed when he saw how the once handsome man had changed and reminded himself that Rodolphus and his brother had only been out for two weeks. Sirius was out for over one and a half years now and there were still shadows on his face more often than not. 

As it were, Rodolphus looked terrible. He was groomed, clean-shaven and dressed nicely but he still looked like Death Incarnate. There was no meat on his bones, what was visible of his skin was waxen with a sickly-yellowish tint and his eyes sat so deep in their sockets that you couldn't even make out their colour. Had they been blue? Brown? 

"Regulus," Rodolphus greeted and even his voice sounded different. Older. Way older than Rodolphus had any right to sound. "It's been too long…" 

Barty inclined his head and crossed the distance to shake Rodolphus' hand. He was surprised when the man pulled him into a hug instead and hugged him back on instinct. He wasn't sure what Regulus' relationship to the Lestranges had been like toward the end of the war, before Regulus had disappeared, so he had to make sure not to miss any cues from Rodolphus. 

"It's so good to see you again," Barty said earnestly and smiled. That part was easy, he'd been fond of the easy-going brothers during the war. "What about Rabastan? Is he alright?" 

Rodolphus smiled gently at that question. "He will be, in time. As alright as one can be after enduring that hellhole for eight years, in any case. Can we go somewhere private, my friend?" 

"Oh, no one's home but grandfather Arcturus," Barty shrugged. "My brother is in a meeting with some loose alliance partners over at the Greengrasses and Harry is at Nott's house, playing with Theo." 

"Little Theo," Rodolphus nodded slowly. A spark returned into his eyes and a nostalgic expression settled on his face. "He was so young when we last saw him, just a babe… I can't wait to meet everyone once again."

Barty had two armchairs fly over towards the fireplace and Rodolphus instantly settled down into one of them. 

"Thank you, Regulus. You must remember from when Sirius was first released how taxing everything can be those first weeks… Just standing is a chore." Rodolphus chuckled weakly and the sound seemed foreign to the man's throat. "But I don't want to complain—at least we're finally out." 

Barty, meanwhile, felt as if an arrow had struck him in the chest. Who _ had _ been there for Sirius when he'd first been released? What must the poor man have felt like, going into prison as a well-liked young man and coming out, innocent, with _ absolutely no one there waiting for you. _

Their letter to Sirius must have felt like water to one who was dying of thirst. He wanted to go and find the man, wrap himself around him and tell him that it was okay now. Instead, he sighed and nodded. 

"Finally, yes. Just as I was finally brave enough to face the world as myself again," Barty admitted, staring into the distance. 

"I _ had _ been meaning to ask, Regulus—the timing, was all of it coincidental? Rabastan is sure you have something to do with our release." Rodolphus' gaze was piercing now. "He says you being attacked by those traitors was what got your arse into motion. You always were like that, weren't you? Calm water until something disturbs you. It was you who forged little Barty's letter, wasn't it?" 

Jackpot. 

"I can't reveal too much, Rodolphus," Barty tried to appease the man who was leaning forward greedily now. "I had something to do with all of it, but I can't say any more on the matter, for all our sakes." 

Rodolphus leaned back, satisfied. "I knew it. You and Barty were close, weren't you? People might even have started whispering about you two if the boy could have stopped worshipping the very ground our master walked on for just a second." 

Barty felt a pang of irritation and swallowed it down laboriously. Surely he hadn't been _ that _ bad? 

"He _ was _ rather smitten with the Dark Lord, but then again, weren't we all?" Barty replied and Rodolphus nodded sagely. "But there was nothing but friendship between us. I still miss him, though." 

"He died so quickly," Rodolphus sighed. "You'd have thought with how few happy memories the kid had, he'd have lasted longer. But then again, maybe those happy memories are all that stands between yourself and death when faced with a dementor and god knows his would have been used up quickly." 

Ouch. A change of topic was in order. 

"Let us let the past rest in peace, Rodolphus. You were very vague in your letter—what, exactly, did you want to talk about?"

"Ah, yes, I've heard something most peculiar from our mutual friend Lord Avery." Rodolphus' eyes seemed more distant now than they had been before. "In a meeting with my father, he insisted that you are working on bringing the Dark Lord back. Is that true?" 

Barty quickly went through his options and decided on honesty. They needed something more than just the cup from the Lestranges: loyalty. 

"I am. And I've paid dearly for my endeavour." Here, he rolled up his sleeve and held his arm out to Rodolphus who hissed in irritation. 

"So it's true," the older man said, ghosting his fingers over the unmarked, artificial skin where Barty's mark used to be. "You must apologise, Regulus, but all the information they give Rabastan and me is… filtered. We have heard of Rosier's coup but father insists we must get well before even thinking of engaging in politics."

"My sources tell me your father is Rosier's second-in-command, Rodolphus." 

"Was," Rodolphus clarified, leaning even closer to Barty's arm. "Our release from prison was enough to calm his temper a little and—aha, here's the line where prosthesis meets flesh! My, what a jagged connection. They really are butchers, aren't they?" 

"_Were _ butchers," Barty growled instead of answering and pulled his arm back towards himself. "Lucius gave those damned Carrows their due."

Rodolphus was silent for two breaths and studied Barty openly. "They want to do tests on your arm, you know? Rosier has it under a stasis charm and he doesn't want anyone to touch it yet. Cousin Rosalind told me. I think _ you _ having been revealed as the tutor instead of little Barty gave old Eustace quite the shock."

"The thing with my arm is disgusting," Barty replied with a shudder. "Why would they think I'm Barty in the first place? He died in Azkaban—no one's escaped from there ever since it was built hundreds of years ago! If the tutor was anyone but himself, it would have made lots more sense for it to be me."

"I've no idea what they were thinking," Rodolphus agreed. "I'm going to try and see what I can do about your arm. But now: the most important question!" 

Rodolphus' voice had changed. It sounded hopeful, maybe? 

"Rabastan, he… I asked him to accompany me but he didn't want you to see him like, well, this," Rodolphus said, gesturing at himself. "I told him he's never been this vain before and that you've seen Sirius when he came out, but, well. He asked me to ask you what your reasons were for freeing us if you had anything to do with it." 

Barty considered that question critically. There was an angle here he didn't understand yet and it was crucial he worked it out in the next half minute. Knowing Rodolphus, this was the last test he had to pass. 

Why would Rabastan be too vain for Regulus to see him fresh from Azkaban? He'd seen Rodolphus and he didn't think less of the man! The Lestrange brothers had been friends with Regulus before the end of the war, before he'd vanished mysteriously never to be seen again. 

Barty had been close friends with Regulus as well and for a while, they'd even teetered on the edge of something more. After Barty had confessed to Regulus that he wasn't attracted to people sexually, they'd grown apart a bit—though it had broken Barty's heart at the time. Well, at least it had pushed him closer towards his lord. Where would Regulus have turned? 

Then, he realised what the deal was and swallowed laboriously. Quick. Quick now. Talk! 

"I was ashamed," Barty pressed out and he didn't need to act like he was choked up. "I left you all and… I told no one where I'd gone, just, packed all my things one day and vanished into the night. Who does that? Cowards do that! I secluded myself in South Africa but I never truly forgot, Rodolphus. After I'd returned and after I'd lost my arm I decided that enough was enough and that I would free who I can so we can work together to bring our Lord back."

Rodolphus grinned deviously at him and yet another spark of life returned into his dark eyes. "And that is all?" 

"No," Barty said, looking him in the eye. "Of all the people I need to apologise to, Rabastan is on the top of my list, of course. I'm… Please tell him I'm sorry for just, for just leaving him like this. I will tell him myself, too, but he needs to hear it as soon as possible from _ some _source."

Rodolphus nodded sharply, satisfied. "He deserves as much. For what it's worth—we're very grateful for the part you played in this, Regulus."

"I'm just sorry we couldn't do anything for Bellatrix," Barty apologised. "She'd been too outspoken and she never wore a mask, right from the start. There was no way anyone would have believed Barty controlled her." 

"Don't worry about it," Rodolphus sighed. "You know damn well our marriage was one of convenience. I'm… relieved to be away from her screeching." 

"Sirius said she was very… persistent in her insistence that the Dark Lord was going to rescue you all. And in her volume too." 

"That she was… Anyway. It was good to see you again, Regulus, but I won't keep you any longer." Rodolphus got up and held his hand out to Barty. When he went to shake it, Rodolphus pulled him close and whispered: "I know there's something he gave to her. Once I've completed the divorce proceedings, I'll see about securing it for you." 

"She told you?" Barty whispered back. 

"No," Rodolphus breathed and Barty could hear the sharp smile the man had to be sporting in his voice. "Our master did. I had a dream two nights ago. I assume he gave you the, mh, let's call it master instructions?" 

"He did," Barty confessed breathlessly. He had forgotten how clever Rodolphus could be, what with the man having spent so much time in Bellatrix' deep, dark shadow.

"There are still those of us loyal to him, Regulus. You're not alone." 

With that, Rodolphus released him and was gone through the Floo in the blink of an eye. 

Barty stayed back with shaking knees and sat down heavily into the armchair again. Regulus and Rabastan, huh? That was certainly unexpected and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to spend more time pondering that revelation. 

So instead he went into the library, got out his quill and continued writing in Regulus' handwriting. 

Sirius found him hunched over Herpo's notes hours later and bodily picked him up as if he weighed nothing. 

"Sirius? What? Why?" 

"It's almost time for dinner, the house elves told me you haven't even had lunch yet and we have a deal, my friend." 

"I forgot, okay? I'm sorry!" 

"No library anymore for you today." Sirius stayed steadfast and only let him down once they'd reached the dining room. "Now eat, and once you're done you'll tell me what Rodolphus said." 

"Oh shit, yeah, he actually–" 

"Ah! Ah ah." Sirius shook his finger in front of Barty's face with a wink. "Food first, talk later." 

Barty glared at him half-heartedly but obediently ate his food. If Sirius had asked him what he'd eaten he wouldn't even have been able to tell him, probably. Thankfully that question wasn't on the test. 

"Alright, you need to buckle up for this one, Sirius. It's something about your brother. Toward the end of the war, before Regulus vanished, him and Rabastan had… something. I don't know if they were a couple because Rodolphus was very tight-lipped but there was something between them."

"I see," Sirius answered slowly, eyes hooded. "Rabastan was one of the nicer ones, I suppose… so, good for him, I guess?" 

"I know it's a bit much," Barty agreed and came around the table to sit on the chair next to Sirius. "I must admit that I'm unsure how to approach Rabastan. I don't think I could feasibly lead him on. I mean, I could theoretically, acting-wise?, but that's fair to neither Rabastan nor you. I guess I'll tell him we'll stay friends if he wants but that, with our history, a relationship just… doesn't make sense?"

"What a mess," Sirius groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I mean, we knew things were gonna get complicated with you assuming Regulus' identity but… wow. I just hope Harry won't notice all the drama." 

"Oh, he'll definitely notice," Barty grinned. "And ever since he snagged that damned diary, Tom's been teaching him to read people and situations, I guess. It's almost heartwarming to see how close they have gotten in only three months. I mean, I knew they'd be compatible right from the start but to–" 

"Wait, no no, wait, what do you mean three months?" Sirius interrupted him. "He's got the diary ever since freeing you in January, hasn't he?" 

"Yes and it's April, so–" Sirius' face grew very worried and Barty felt a sense of dread wash over himself. "What? What is it? Is it… not April?" 

"Barty it's… it's late June. Harry's birthday is next month." Sirius put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly. "Are you sure that everything's fine? Did you lose time? We talked almost every day the past half a year. Maybe you just… lost focus a little?" 

That had definitely never happened before. Even in Azkaban, weak as he had been, he'd known approximately how many days he'd been in there and it was consistent with what he had read later in old editions of the Prophet. This was… new and decidedly uncalled for. 

"I guess that must be it, with the focus," Barty mumbled, unsure but willing to _ make _ sure. "Rodolphus and Rabastan got out two weeks ago, right?" 

"Yes, that part is correct. Maybe you, uh, kinda forgot the time right after the dungeon and your brain deleted the gaps instead of closing them?" Sirius looked unsure about that theory and Barty could only shrug in response. 

"I actually have no idea," he chuckled. "I'd wanted to get the locket before Harry left for Hogwarts… I'd planned it for May. That's so weird." 

"Well, we can always get it this month," Sirius reminded him with a smile. "How about it? We get Cassie to look after Harry, get the walrus and go visit that cave?" 

"I think that would be best," Barty agreed.

Locket first, explanations to unsolved riddles later—not his most sensible decision. But what if he saw him again, a voice in the back of his mind whispered. There had been no visions in Little Hangleton but that one had been relatively easy _ and _ Tom had been there. 

Maybe now, with the dangerous cave and without the diary horcrux nearby, he'd finally _ see him again–? _

-o-

A week later, Barty and Sirius rang the doorbell of a dingy flat in the London suburbs. There was some vague shuffling behind the door and they had to wait longer than it was polite to be kept waiting until a boy with blonde hair and a sickly look about him opened it. 

Dudley Dursley was still massive for a boy of ten years but he looked deflated, like a balloon that had been left out in the sun for too long. The view made Barty giddy. 

"Is this the Dursleys' residence?" Barty asked in a harsh voice and the boy nodded with wide eyes. "We need to talk to your father, boy." 

"He's in the living room," the boy offered quickly and darted away from them. 

The door to what must have been his bedroom closed behind him with a bang. 

"How often do I have to _ bloody tell you not to SLAM THAT _–" 

Vernon Dursley's rant stopped midway through as Sirius and Barty entered the cramped, untidy living room. 

"Who the hell are you? Why did the boy let you inside?" Where his son had looked deflated, Vernon Dursley looked positively ill. 

He had deep bags under his eyes, his skin looked pale and sweaty and he had aged about ten years during the last… four months? Five? Not enough to look like _ that, _in any case. 

Vernon's left arm in particular looked wrong somehow, Barty noticed, the angle didn't quite fit. The man noticed him staring. 

"What are you looking at?" he growled, trying to turn on the couch so that the arm wasn't visible. "I fell on it months back and if I can't pay your _ bloody _ bills it's because the insurance won't cover enough! My boy's gotta eat! Not that he's ever satisfied…" 

The last part was only mumbled but it made Barty remember how he'd Obliviated father and son back when he'd kidnapped Petunia. A vengeful sort of feeling took root in his chest and he felt like revealing himself to the shadow haunting his Harry's dreams. 

His hand was inching up towards the talisman but Sirius stopped him halfway. 

"Don't, Barty," Sirius said darkly, pinning him with a serious look. "You promised me—no torture just for the sake of it." 

"Torture? What's this about torture?" Vernon shuffled around in an effort to get up but before he had managed, Barty had levelled his wand at him. "What? No… No!** It was you people!** Where is my ** _wife, _ **what did you people–" 

"_I__mperio, _" Barty intoned, almost bored, and watched with satisfaction as Vernon's face went slack. "You will tell me whether your boy knows how to reach his aunt."

"Yes, he has her phone number," Vernon replied in a flat voice. 

"Right-o." Barty shrugged, strode boldly forward and grabbed Vernon's shoulder—the apparently injured one. Even through the Imperious, the man flinched. "You got the coordinates down, Sirius?" 

Sirius merely nodded and Apparated away with a last long look toward Dudley's bedroom. Barty was half afraid there was a bit of a tiff in their future but now was not the time to dwell on that. 

He Apparated Vernon and himself to the nondescript cliff face and came face to face with a distraught Sirius. 

"He's just a boy, Barty." 

"He's almost of Hogwarts age," Barty reminded him. "You know who managed to turn out different from all his family despite knowing little to no different for the first 11 years of his life? This guy." 

Here, he pointed at Sirius whose eyes widened. "That was different, I met James on the train and we _ instantly _became best friends!" 

"Black comes before Potter in the alphabet, Sirius. It was your own decision to be something different, to rise above." His eyes turned hard. "Don't chicken out on me now, Sirius. I need you here!"

For a brief moment, the two stared at each other. Sirius' open hair was blowing in the strong winds and obscuring his expression. Barty thought he saw doubt there. 

"I'm in," Sirius finally said and walked stiffly towards the cliff. 

They Apparated down to the stone platform near the entrance and Barty had Vernon cut his palm with a sharp knife. The blood sacrifice opened the hidden door he somehow knew was exactly _ there, _between these rocks, and they found themselves in an expansive underground cavern. 

The darkness inside was almost suffocating and Sirius and him both used _ Lumos. _Still, they couldn't see very far. Magically enhanced darkness, maybe? Or the influence of a horcrux? Maybe he really should take that diary away from Harry after all. 

As they walked towards the black expanse of an eerily still lake, Barty felt violently ill all of a sudden and had to grab the wall beside him for support. Still, his knees gave way and he fell on the hard floor. His head struck stone and he was out like a candle snuffed out by the wind. 

When he opened his eyes again, _ he is confronted with the sight of long, pale feet peeking out from beneath a dark robe. Barty's heart catches in his throat and when he looks up, he sees Lord Voldemort looking down at him with an expression that might have almost been a smile. _

_ "Get up," the achingly familiar voice commands and Barty shuffles to his feet. _

_ He still has to hold fast to the wall lest his legs give out under him once again but the elation at seeing his master must have travelled all the way to the past. _

_ "Where are we?" His voice sounds so _ young _ here. _

_ "A cave," Lord Voldemort replies helpfully and turns around towards the still water laid out before them. "I will give you the coordinates later." _

_ "What a dark and dreary place…" Barty stays close to his master and wishes his younger self had reached out just once. Being stuck in his own actions from the past is _maddening. 

_ There's a boat anchored in the still water but Lord Voldemort waves his wand over it, mutters something, and it becomes invisible. _

_ "I meant to do this last time already," his master says distractedly, then turns to him. "You are a wizard of age, Barty, so we can't share this boat. Ideas?" _

_ Barty looks at the invisible, unassuming wooden vessel in thought. _

_ "A wind charm to send it back to the shore once one of us has reached the island? A rope fastened to the end of the boat before it leaves? I guess swimming is out of the question?" _

_ "Unless you want to die a most painful death," his master agrees and both Bartys shiver involuntarily. "I like the rope best. Make one." _

_ Barty conjures a solid hempen rope and fastens it to a stalagmite and then to the invisible boat with some difficulty. His master crosses first, then Barty pulls the boat back towards himself and sets out after him. _

_ It crosses his mind that Lord Voldemort trusts him. He could have sunk the boat and cut the rope while the man is stranded on the island but he doesn't, of course. _

_ When he reaches the island, Lord Voldemort's hand on his elbow steadies him as he moves to leave the boat. _

_ "The potion I've given you has not harmed your wit but your body is not reliable enough. A big step now, boy." Barty concentrates on making that big step despite his skin tingling where his master holds onto him. "Very good." _

_ Barty lets the praise wash over him and takes in the raised basin containing a potion he's never seen before. _

_ "Ah, you've noticed," Lord Voldemort tells him with an air of superiority about him. "One of my own creations. I tested it on a house elf and it does exactly as I need it to." _

_ "Do you want me to drink it?" The liquid seems to call to him, somehow, but a strong hand on his shoulder keeps him away from the basin. He feels no desire to know exactly what the potion does. _

_ "I'd thought about it," his master admits and Barty whirls around to look at him because the tone of his voice is new. "But I decided against it. I'm afraid I like you too much." _

_ Past Barty seemed to be as overwhelmed by this statement as present Barty felt and they both gulped as one and looked away with a blush forming on their cheeks. _

_ "I have no doubt that of all my followers, you will be the one to facilitate my rebirth, should it ever come to that," Lord Voldemort adds earnestly and Barty feels his face flush even hotter. _

_ He's never felt this appreciated in his _ life _ and judging by the man's expression, his master realises the same in that moment. A sigh escapes Lord Voldemort's lips and when he opens his arms, Barty doesn't understand the implication at first. _

_ When a strange, unreal thought crosses his mind, he grabs at it frantically and steps almost haltingly into his master's personal space. Long arms close around his back and Barty desperately clings to Lord Voldemort's robes as if the man would disappear if he let go. _

_ His head only reaches up to Lord Voldemort's shoulders and with all the comfort it might have given him, he wishes this memory hadn't been hidden all these years. On the other hand, the dementors would have doubtlessly taken it from him first, had it not been buried and forgotten. _

_ He tells himself to stop thinking about this and to cherish the moment while it lasts. His eyes burn with unshed tears but thankfully, mercifully, his master lets him have this. The heart beating under Barty's ear does so calmly, steadily—such a stark contrast to his own drumroll of a heartbeat. _

_ If it was up to him, he may never let go, but soon enough the warm arms leave his back and there's an insistent finger under his chin, making him look up. _

_ "If my life plans had involved raising a family, I should have wished for a son just like you, Barty," Lord Voldemort tells him and there's no way he's not crying after this admission. _

_ He'd almost call the expression Lord Voldemort bore _ fond _ as he shows him how the basin works after all. Nasty business, that potion. _

_ "And this is why you will bring someone with you, when you come here. You mustn't drink it, Barty, no matter what. Best you come back here once more if you don't remember enough in the beginning than that you drink it. Have I made myself clear?" _

_ Barty nods mutely, the occasional tear still rolling down his cheek. He'd think it an embarrassing display but his master hasn't rebuked him yet so he doesn't try exceptionally hard to stem their flow. _

_ Once they've exited the cave again, Voldemort Apparates them to the top of the cliff and they look down together. _

_ "I almost regret having to give you the second dose now, Barty," Lord Voldemort tells him with a far-away expression. "This was the most human interaction I've had in quite a while… I think you'll retain some vague recollections judging by the after effects of the last times we've had our little excursions but I alone will be settled with the burden of knowledge." _

_ "You could… not give me the second dose? I'd like to remember it." _

_ "That's not possible, Barty," Lord Voldemort tells him and shakes his head decisively. "Struggle though I may, I can't endanger my future like that. Would you want to endanger me?" _

_ "Definitely not, master," he exclaims forcefully, steeling himself. _

_ When Lord Voldemort approaches him, he obediently tips his head back and gags at the familiar, rotten taste of the potion. He feels faint, weak, and sees himself slumping over into his master's arms. _

_ But where past Barty is caught securely, present Barty keeps falling through Lord Voldemort and down the sheer cliffs. The rocks and the water draw ever nearer and the impact would surely… _

awaken him. 

Barty coughed and spluttered and held his stomach while he dry-heaved. 

"Barty! Thank Merlin you're awake!" 

Sirius held him close while he got his bearings and Barty was grateful for the anchor to reality. It took him a minute or two until he felt like he was actually inhaling oxygen once more and he thanked Sirius with a wobbly smile. 

"Fuck Barty, what was that about!?" 

"I told you I might have a vision of the past," Barty explained, squeezing his eyes shut as another ripple of vertigo passed over him. "Though I didn't expect it to be this violent."

"No shit, even your Imperious broke. I had to use a body-bind curse on Harry's uncle." Here, Sirius pointed over his shoulder at Vernon Dursley whose eyes were almost bulging out of his face from panic. 

"Still not using the Unforgivables? You're so cute when you're all righteous," Barty teased. 

"No flirting while you look like my brother, Barty, we talked about this," Sirius reminded him and Barty chuckled dryly in response. 

"No, that's absolutely fair, you're right. _ Imperio._" Vernon became slack again and Sirius cancelled the body-bind with a sigh. "I changed my mind by the way, Sirius. You'll stay here. I won't need your assistance after all. It's safer if you stay here." 

"What? Why? Is something dangerous lurking over there?" 

Sirius tried to stare at the island of green light shining through the inky darkness but he might as well have pressed his face into a mountain of thick fabric for all he was probably seeing. 

"Over there is not the problem," Barty answered and walked toward the water's edge. "What's in here is." 

Sirius followed him to the edge of the lake and shrunk back immediately. 

"Are those _ inferi? _ Has your bloody Dark Lord lost his _ mind? _ That's hundreds, probably _ thousands _of them! Where did he even get this many, what the fuck!" 

"Look, I have no idea. For all I know, he might have robbed some graveyards?" 

Sirius looked scandalised. "That does not make it better!" he positively screeched. 

"That's why I'm telling you to stay here, relax. Thanks to the vision I know what to do." 

Barty was still reeling from the memory of Lord Voldemort and busied himself with locating the invisible boat and conjuring a long rope. In no time at all, him and Vernon, who was not a wizard and therefore didn't count as far as boat capacity went, were on the small island. Barty lost no time in making the hateful man drink the potion. 

Even through the Imperious, Vernon was sobbing and begging him to stop. Barty only rolled his eyes and forced him to drink faster. 

"I hope you remember this in hell, Vernon Dursley: those who touch Harry Potter will die a most painful death, but not before I had my fun with them. _ Finite Incantatem._"

Just as Vernon had finished the last cup, Barty ended the curse and the man dropped to his side. 

"No, no, no," he was moaning, holding his head and his stomach. "Petunia, where are you? Ohhhh, it hurts... I'm dying, I think I'm dying… water, I need water…" 

Barty grabbed the locket and spared a last, hateful glance at Vernon who was slowly, ever so slowly, crawling towards the murky water. Barty gave him a hearty kick that had him land face first in the inky blackness of the lake and quickly jumped in the boat. 

As the inferi were feasting on their prey, he held the locket tightly in his hand. 

-o-

Once they'd Apparated back onto the cliffs to get away from the infernal noise of waves continuously crashing into stone, Barty felt some of the tension drain away from him. 

"Let's see it, then," Sirius grinned and held his hand out. 

Barty gave him the locket while he himself walked over toward the part of the cliff where he had stood with his master. Where he'd fallen into the sea before waking up in the present. That had been the most peculiar sensation he'd ever felt in his life. 

He wondered whether the visions had something to do with him losing time in the aftermath of the loss of his arm. Maybe they had been tethered to his Mark, somehow? 

"Regulus?" 

But then he wouldn't have had one at all now, would he? Then again, his reaction _had_ been a lot stronger this time. 

"_Regulus!_"

The urgency in Sirius' voice roused Barty from his musings. "What? What's wrong?" 

When he turned around, there was a group of men gathered around Sirius. One of them had his wand pointed at Sirius' throat while another, achingly familiar, boldly strode towards Barty and splayed his arms wide in a gesture that was a greeting as much as an intimidation tactic. 

"Regulus, it's been so long," the fearsome, burly creature growled with a smile that was all sharp, pointy teeth. 

"Fenrir Greyback," Barty snarled back, all sense of nostalgia gone in a hot second. "Not long enough." 

If anything, Fenrir's smile got wider and there was a wild look in his eyes. 

"I'm going to kill your brother today," Fenrir told him with a maniacal sort of glee. "And then, I'm going to kill _ you._"

Barty refused to dignify such idiocy with a response and the second he let his wand fly into his hand from his holster, all hell broke loose. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to get soft bois to become hard-ass bois? Threaten their makeshift family!


End file.
